


Moving On, Forward (Come in Lost Soul)

by pushingcrazies



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-05-04 05:11:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 39
Words: 203,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5321714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pushingcrazies/pseuds/pushingcrazies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jonathan and Andrew are on the run to Mexico when a chance encounter in Los Angeles sets them on a new path - one with consequences neither could have foreseen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Romance will be added later in the story, but for now the focus is on Jonathan dealing with the trauma of running from Sunnydale. Pairings will be tagged when they become relevant. Thank you for reading!
> 
> A huge huge huge thanks to my beta, KiranInBlue. Best reference for all things characterization.

Jonathan watched out the window as the highway rolled by. The truck driver who had been kind - or bored - enough to pick him and Andrew up had long since stopped trying to engage them in conversation when it became clear that they weren’t exactly in a chatty mood.

Warren was dead. Warren was dead. Warren was _dead_.

No matter how many times Jonathan repeated it to himself, it didn’t make any sense. They could hardly be called best friends, but he was still someone Jonathan had known, had spent quite a lot of time around.

Living on the Hellmouth should have inured him to these sorts of incidents.

Warren was dead.

Andrew was in mourning. To be honest, Jonathan was, too - but not for the same things. He was in mourning for the life he would never be able to go back to. He was in mourning for everything he had thrown away so carelessly when he decided to make Sunnydale sit up and take notice of Jonathan Levinson. He wondered if his parents would worry about him when he stopped coming around to visit.

And now he was on the run to Mexico. Like something out of a movie, except this was really happening. Jonathan would have given anything to take it all back.

Beside him, Andrew sniffled a little bit. Jonathan turned his face even further towards the window, watching the darkness flash by. Highway signs showed that they were almost to Los Angeles; from there it would be another three hours or so to Tijuana, just over the border. It was a little cliche, maybe, to run away to Tijuana, but from there they could go other places. Jonathan spoke some Spanish, enough that hopefully they wouldn’t get taken advantage of within minutes of stepping foot in Mexico.

The truck slowed down slightly as it came upon another exit. The truck driver grunted something about gas. Jonathan roused himself, nudging Andrew in the process. It would feel good to stretch their legs, maybe get a small something to eat. He wasn’t necessarily hungry, but he wasn’t sure how much longer he should go on an empty stomach. He had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

The truck pulled up to a gas station on the very edge of Los Angeles, one of those ubiquitous places that cater especially to truck drivers and road-weary long distance travellers. As the driver swung down to start the pump, Jonathan opened his door and climbed down on shaky legs. Andrew scrambled down beside him.

They went inside to use the restroom and grab some snacks. Andrew looked awful under the harsh fluorescent lights: haggard and tired, with large bags under his eyes. Jonathan didn’t dare look in the mirror, knowing he probably looked even worse. Jonathan pressed some money into Andrew’s hand, telling him to spend it carefully. They had a decent stash with them, having quickly stopped at their base to grab some of the bank heist money, but it was by no means infinite. 

Trying to follow his own advice, Jonathan wandered the aisles, searching for something cheap that would keep him full for several hours. He ended up in front of the hot dog rollers, staring at the processed meat as they made their endless rotations. He was looking past them, staring into an endless void where he could pretend none of the last 24 hours had happened.

Warren was dead.

Jonathan left the hot dogs without getting one. He would rather grab something in a bag he could nibble on later if he got hungry. He wasn’t sure he’d ever feel hungry again.

Chips wouldn't be very filling, jerky or nuts were too expensive, anything refrigerated would spoil. He settled for grabbing a couple of Baby Ruth bars in the hopes that the peanuts would give him enough protein to counteract the sugar. A wilted-looking banana from the fresh fruit selection would have to do for an attempt at eating healthy. On second thought, he grabbed one for Andrew as well.

He wandered over to the counter, where Andrew was already standing in line with a large bag of Doritos and a bottle of Pepsi in hand. Jonathan forgot to grab anything to drink. "Hold my place," he mumbled, hurrying back to the refrigerators to get an energy drink. He normally hated the taste, but drastic times call for drastic measures. He slid back into line behind Andrew, murmuring his thanks. The person behind him gave him a sharp look, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

After they paid for their items, they went back outside to the truck. The driver had pulled into one of the large parking spots but he was nowhere to be seen - probably getting his own snacks or taking a leak. Jonathan leaned against the truck’s passenger door and tried to convince himself to eat a candy bar.

“What are we going to do when we get to Mexico?” Andrew asked so quietly that Jonathan thought for a moment he was just imagining his own thoughts out loud.

“Lay low,” Jonathan replied. It wasn’t much of an answer, but it was the only one he had. “We’ll figure it out when we get there.”

“Okay.” Andrew seemed to take comfort in this little bit of information. Jonathan was the one with a plan - even if the details were a little sparse.

But it got Jonathan to worrying. What _were_ they going to do? Mexico may be a cheaper place to live than the United States, but they didn’t have a huge fortune to spend. He would probably have to get some sort of job - but what could he do for work? His Spanish was limited; he had not done very well on the AP test and never bothered to brush up in college. Maybe he could work at a resort or something that catered to American travellers. Maybe he could do some freelance website design work. Or there was always magic….

After about five minutes of waiting for the truck driver to come back, Andrew began to fidget. After ten minutes, the fidget became a full-on restlessness. Jonathan gritted his teeth, trying to ignore the small whimpers and fumbling attempts at starting conversation. He checked his watch, vowing that if the driver had not come back in another five minutes, he would go look for him. The evening’s travellers - already sparse enough - were slowly emptying out of the station. Another driver was eyeing the two of them with suspicion. Jonathan opened up one of his Baby Ruth bars to give himself something to do. Each bite felt like swallowing rocks.

By the time he finished, the driver was still nowhere to be seen, and Jonathan regretted having eaten. He shoved the plastic bag containing the rest of his stuff into Andrew’s arms. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

“I’m coming with you,” Andrew countered instantly. He clutched his bag and Jonathan’s in his hands, clearly frightened. “Don’t leave me here by myself where the police could come swooping in at any second or Buffy or - or Willow….”

“No one is coming for us,” Jonathan said. He almost believed it himself. “I’m just going to go find out what’s taking so long. I don’t need you tagging after me. This will only take a minute.”

Jonathan turned around and started to walk away. Not even three steps, and he heard the crunch of Andrew’s sneakers behind him. Jonathan rolled his eyes but did not say anything - it would take more energy to argue than to let him follow along like a lost duckling. And energy was definitely not something Jonathan had in spades right now.

A quick glance through the aisles yielded no results. Nor did the bathroom or the attached fast food restaurants. With each failure, Jonathan found himself growing more and more panicked. A dozen horrifying scenarios flew through his head, but he forced them down and continues on his search.

In a last-ditch effort, they swung around to the back of the building, and Jonathan stopped short at the sight of a shapeless lump on the ground. In the dark shadows, it looked like their driver, but Jonathan didn’t want to get close enough to find out. A body on the ground - maybe he just got lightheaded and passed out?

Jonathan mentally slapped himself. He’d seen enough bodies in alleyways to know that is most likely not what happened.

“Is he dead?” Andrew whimpered behind him.

Jonathan took a step forward, then a second one. Before he could go any further, three figures came forward out of the shadows, staring at them with frightening intensity. One grinned wickedly, showing off the pointed fangs that seemed to gleam in the darkness. Yellow eyes, disfigured foreheads….

Vampires.

Behind him, Andrew bit down a scream, choking it into a high-pitched whimper instead. Oh god, they were going to die. They didn’t have any weapons - and even if they did, what sort of match would they be for three vampires who were advancing upon them at a leisurely pace, as if they didn’t have anything to worry about? To be fair, they didn’t.

There was a wooden pallet leaning against the station wall a few feet away. If Jonathan could get to it and tear off one of the slats, maybe…..maybe…..

He dashed for it at the same time one of the vampires pounced. He yelled as the vampire grabbed him and threw him bodily backwards, his head connecting hard with the ground.

“Jonathan!” Andrew shouted, dropping their stuff and running over to him. Good, yes, yelling was good. Someone might hear them and come to their rescue. He struggled to sit up just as the lead vampire came at them again. With a startling burst of pain in his head, Jonathan shoved Andrew off and out of the vampire’s trajectory, but it did no good. A second vampire swooped in to grab him before he even hit the ground.

“What a valiant meal we’ve found,” the lead vampire said, smirking at Jonathan. “So noble to try to save your friend. The adrenaline in your blood will taste delicious.”

Before Jonathan could react, the vampire was on him, teeth flashing in the darkness and cold against his neck. Jonathan squeezed his eyes shut, ready for the end - 

But nothing happened.

He opened his eyes, startled to find himself covered in ashes. A wooden-shafted arrow lay on the ground by his side, presumably having just embedded itself in the vampire’s heart. For a wild moment he wondered if he had somehow conjured it with magic, but that theory was proved wrong when he caught sight of a man striding out of the darkness, crossbow levelled at the remaining vampires who were frozen in the same shock as Jonathan. The one not using Andrew as a human shield attempted to attack the man, but he didn’t even make it two steps before another crossbow bolt slew him. The man did not so much as break stride, advancing on the last vampire.

“Let him go,” the man said evenly. He spoke with a posh British accent.

“No,” the vampire said, clutching Andrew tighter.

“Very well,” the man said, aiming the crossbow at the vampire’s heart - never mind that Andrew’s body was still blocking it.

“No!” Jonathan yelled, summoning the last of his strength and coordination to launch himself at the man, knocking the crossbow out of his hand and the man to the ground. The vampire used the momentary diversion to release Andrew and escape into the night.

The British man sat up. Now that he was up close, Jonathan could see a not-quite-healed scar running across his neck. Not the work of a vampire, but something nasty that must have been wielding a knife or sword. “You let it get away,” the man said, disdain mixing into the calm tone.

“You were going to shoot my friend,” Jonathan snapped, levering himself into a sitting position - and immediately wishing he hadn’t. He brought a shaky hand to his head, and sure enough there was definitely blood there.

“I would have done no such thing,” the man countered. Jonathan wasn’t quite sure he believed him. “But now there is no telling how many more innocent humans that vampire will kill or turn.” He watched Jonathan’s face closely as he said the word ‘vampire,’ looking for some sort of reaction. Jonathan was too exhausted to feign surprise.

“Yeah, well...thanks for the help. I think,” he muttered grudgingly. “We’d be dead if you hadn’t stepped in.” Of course, what was the help worth if they still ended up dead in the process? Jonathan could not bring himself to interrogate the stranger, however.

“Where are you going from here? I presume you arrived here with this man?” the stranger asked, gesturing towards the lifeless body.

“We’ll figure something out,” Jonathan said. He started to stand up, but was overcome with a wave of nausea and dizziness. He sat back down on the ground.

“A-are you okay?” Andrew asked, stepping tentatively forward. Jonathan noticed he was shaking pretty hard, even though it was warm out. It hurt Jonathan’s eyes to watch him vibrating so much.

“I’ll be okay,” Jonathan insisted stubbornly.

“Your friend probably has a concussion,” the man said, speaking to Andrew right over Jonathan’s head. It made Jonathan flush with shame, which made his head hurt all the worse. “He should probably go to a hospital. I can call you an ambulance. What are your names?”

Jonathan and Andrew exchanged a glance. They already had fake names picked out and had used them once already with the truck driver. But this felt like some sort of test.

Andrew jutted out his chin mulishly. “I’m Bruce, and this is Larry.” Bruce after Wayne and Banner. Jonathan didn’t tell Andrew why he chose the name Larry, other than it somehow seemed fitting. Andrew had made a halfhearted attempt at a Three Stooges joke, but it fell horribly flat. If Andrew knew the truth, he would probably be impressed with the symbolism. Like Harry Potter stealing out of his aunt and uncle’s place, under the assumption he was on the run from the law, he had chosen an inconspicuous classmate’s name and hidden under it for safety.

Well, inconspicuous except for the fact he was dead. But no one outside of Sunnydale knew who Larry Blaisdell was.

“Larry and Bruce,” the man repeated, eyes focused on Jonathan with a scrutiny that made him uncomfortable. Like he could read the truth in the lines of Jonathan’s face. “A pleasure to meet you. Call me Wesley.”

He reached down to help Jonathan back to his feet, but suddenly Andrew was there to take over. He looped an arm around Jonathan’s waist and held him up when Jonathan’s knees threatened to buckle again. After a few seconds, he was nearly steady on his feet.

Wesley reached out to hold Jonathan’s face and make him look into his eyes. Uncomfortable, Jonathan nearly snapped at him to let go, but then Wesley did of his own volition. “Your pupils are slightly anisocoric, but you seem responsive enough. Are you experiencing any other symptoms?”

Jonathan considered lying so that the man would go away and he could lie down in the alley for a minute before figuring out what to do. Of course, then he’d be lying just feet away from a dead body, and that would not bode well. “I feel a little sick,” he admitted. “And dizzy. And my head hurts.”

“I’m not surprised,” Wesley said. He reached out again to touch the back of Jonathan’s head, which caused Jonathan to flinch. This guy was awfully touchy-feely for someone who had just been pointing an arrow straight at Andrew’s ribcage. Nevertheless, his fingers were gentle as he prodded the wound. “You’ll survive. An hospital would probably be advisable, but -”

“I’m not going to the hospital,” Jonathan said.

Wesley smiled for the first time, although it was a wry, bitter thing. “No, I figured you would not. Very well. I will bring you to my flat and you can tell me why you are hitchhiking with a truck driver and going under a false name, Jonathan Levinson.”

For a wild moment, Jonathan hoped the concussion was worse than he thought because he could have sworn this stranger just called him by his real name. But no, Andrew was also staring at him with obvious fright. “He knows your name,” Andrew hissed.

There was a weighted pause as Wesley stared Jonathan down, a challenge in his eyes. A challenge to protest, to remember - but remember what? Jonathan racked his brain and came up with nothing. He had never seen this dangerous, imposing man before in his life - had he?

Then the moment passed, and Wesley looked away. Was...that disappointment Jonathan saw in his eyes? “Do you have supplies in the truck?”

“Yeah,” Jonathan said. “But it’s locked up.”

Without hesitation or pausing to consider what he was doing, Wesley went over to the dead truck driver - Jonathan remembered suddenly that his name was Walter - and rummaged through his pockets until he came up with the driver’s keys. He tossed them to Andrew, who fumbled the catch and had to stoop to pick them up off the ground.

“Get your stuff and meet me at my bike. It’s parked back there,” Wesley said, pointing deeper in the shadows.

Andrew stared at the keys, then at Jonathan, a question in his eyes. Jonathan was full of trepidation, but also curiosity. Who was this man who knew and remembered him? He had to find out. He nodded subtly at Andrew, ignoring the way his vision swam as he did.

Andrew still looked troubled. “Are you a vampire, too?” he demanded suddenly of the stranger.

“If I were a vampire, why would I save you two?” Wesley countered.

Jonathan frowned at him. “You didn’t answer the question,” he pointed out. “There are vampires who kill other vampires.”

A look of fury mixed with despair crossed Wesley’s face - Jonathan only caught a glimpse of it before the man turned away and started to walk in the direction he had indicated his bike was parked. “I’m not a vampire,” he said. “Nor am I Angel.” He disappeared into the shadows.

“Angels are real, too?” Andrew asked, bewildered.

“No,” Jonathan said hollowly, because he has seen a lot of crazy stuff in Sunnydale, but of this he was fairly certain. Angels were pure myth. “He’s crazy.” He took a few shaky steps back to the truck, Andrew supporting him. With each step, he felt less unbalanced.

“He knows who you are,” Andrew said. “How does he know that? Who is he? What do you think he wants?”

"I don't know," Jonathan said, covering all the questions with one answer. "But whatever he says or does, we can't trust him."

"Duh," Andrew said, for a moment sounding like his old self. Jonathan hadn't even realised how much he missed it until now. "Trust no one, Scully."

"I'm not Scully, you're Scully," Jonathan responded automatically, falling easily into the old banter. "We need to figure out a way to get out of there quickly if we need to."

"Are you going to be okay?" Andrew asked.

"I can run if I have to," Jonathan said. He was lying - he had no idea if he would really be able to escape at anything faster than a turtle’s crawl. If his life or freedom depended on it, though...

He didn't like not having a plan. And he really didn't like the idea of this potentially dangerous stranger knowing who he was. At least he probably didn't have a connection to the Slayer....

A thought - a memory - niggled at the back of Jonathan's mind, but before he could chase it, they had made their way to the abandoned truck. The last late-night stragglers had departed from the station except for a few truckers who had chosen to sleep in their trucks. Andrew let go of Jonathan's waist, intentionally drawing himself up and away, putting distance between them. Jonathan swayed but stayed upright. He passed the keys to Andrew, who opened up the cab and pulled out their meager supplies. They hadn't had time to grab much: a couple change of clothes, a few electronics, and a couple of Jonathan's most useful spell books. Slinging the backpack on his back, Andrew shut the cab door again. He looked at the keys in his hands.

"What do we do with them?"

If they took the keys with them, it would seem peculiar. If they left them on or near Walter's body, their fingerprints would be on them. Never mind that, Jonathan realised - their fingerprints were already all over the truck cab. People, and possibly surveillance, had seen them arrive at the station with Walter, had seen them come back from the shadows where it wouldn't be long before the body was found. They had no alibi. Their only defense was that a creature out of mythology had killed him.

"We'll leave the keys with the body," Jonathan said, voice wavering. They were doomed either way. They should probably just give themselves up. "Come on."

They made their way around to the back of the building again, where Walter's body was still lying there in a heap. Andrew stopped short. "I can't do it. You do it." Jonathan, who was no longer leaning on Andrew for support, made to protest but stopped. Letting other people take the lead, being a follower, had put him in this position in the first place. It was his time to lead. He took the keys from Andrew and hobbled over to Walter's body. He slid them back into the pocket they had come from, but left them dangling half out as if Walter had tried to shove them in in a hurry.

"Sorry," he muttered, though he knew logically that this was not his fault. Walter would have come to this rest stop with or without him and Andrew as passengers.

Jonathan stood up again, and this time the wave of dizziness was a lot less overwhelming. Nevertheless, he could not wait to lie down soon. He looked at Andrew. "Come on. That guy said he had a bike around here somewhere."

Andrew followed obediently as Jonathan led the way deeper into the shadows. Jonathan’s palms were sweaty, and his heart pounded; he hoped he was making the right decision. A wrong move could land both him and Andrew in jail, or worse. But what could this man possibly want from them? They had nothing, they were on the run. There was nothing he could blackmail them for.

A bright light flickered into life several yards ahead of them. It was the light on Wesley’s motorcycle, and he beckoned them forward. There were only two seats on the bike, causing Jonathan to falter. Did he mean to separate the two of them? The crossbow had been stashed in a bulging saddlebag strapped to the back of the bike.

“It will be a bit tight, but I think all three of us can fit,” Wesley said calmly. Either he did not see Jonathan’s hesitation or he ignored it. He pointed to the backpack Andrew carried. “You’ll have to wear that.”

Jonathan stopped a few feet away, grabbing Andrew’s arm to hold him back as well. He had a really bad feeling about this. “I don’t think we should go with you,” he said. “When they find Walter’s body, it’s going to become apparent that we fled the scene of a crime. We’d be wanted for questioning at least, if not pinned for m-murder.” He cursed his voice for failing on the word. “We should stay here and take our chances.”

Wesley held out a helmet - apparently the only one he had - to Jonathan for him to take. “There are enough people on the police force here who can recognise a vampire bite when they see one. One person in particular…. Well, either way, they’ll know you didn’t do it, and will find another way to close the case.” He waved the helmet slightly, encouraging Jonathan to take it. “But if we don’t leave now, we’ll have a lot of questions to answer. I’m guessing that’s not something you’re very keen to stick around for.”

Andrew looked at Jonathan. After another moment’s hesitation, Jonathan took the helmet. They were committed to seeing this through.

He tried to pass the helmet to Andrew, but Wesley shook his head. “You should wear that,” he said.

Jonathan frowned. _Great. If we crash, the other two will have head wounds to match mine_ , he thought. Nevertheless, he put the helmet (slightly too large for his head) on and did up the buckle. He waited for Wesley to climb onto the bike first, then slid in behind him, pressing as close as possible to his back. Andrew looked for a moment like he was going to protest, then he, too, climbed on. It was tight and uncomfortable, and if a police officer saw them riding like this they would be in major trouble.

“Hold on,” Wesley said, then started the motorcycle’s engine with a soft roar.

The ride was dizzying and terrifying, and seemed to last forever. At least they were heading into the city - if they had been driving out towards nowhere, Jonathan would have taken his chances and leapt off the bike as soon as it slowed down to a reasonable speed. As it was, the neighbourhood they ended up in was not exactly the best Jonathan had ever seen. He tried to keep track of the many streets Wesley turned on, and in which direction, but he was hopelessly lost within twenty minutes. By the time they pulled up to the apartment complex Wesley presumably rented from, Jonathan would not have been able to make his way back to the highway if his life depended on it.

Which honestly it might.

Andrew slid off the bike as soon as Wesley killed the engine. Jonathan followed suit, stretching his cramped legs. His head hurt in a steady throbbing beat as he took off the helmet and passed it back to Wesley.

“This way,” Wesley said, taking the helmet and leading them into the apartment complex. Jonathan took in all the details as he walks. The complex was nothing stellar, but it was also not the worst he has ever seen. It was the sort of place a person might live for a few months before moving on. Wesley’s apartment itself was somehow even more sterile and lacking in personality: the only sign that a person actually lived there were the books stacked everywhere. Old books, with foreign characters decorating the covers and spines. He recognized some of the languages, but got the sense Andrew would have a better time translating them. 

“Does this bring back any memories?” Wesley asked, startling Jonathan from his internal reverie.

He frowned. “No?”

Wesley nodded. “That’s not that surprising. We were both quite busy the day we met, and you had something else on your mind. You and Larry both.”

Jonathan glared at the nearest pile of books. Now he was just being downright cryptic. Why not just spit it out? “I have no idea what you’re-” he started to snap, but then a memory niggled at the back of his head once more. Larry. The only time he and Jonathan had ever exchanged more than five words had been on Graduation Day, when they were piling up explosives in the library. He remembered Cordelia had been in there, packing up Mr. Giles’ books with a very tall British man. But that man was nerdy-looking and wore glasses and he definitely didn’t wear leather jackets and black jeans. And he had a pretentious-sounding, dorky name like Winston Periwinkle III or…

“Wesley Wyndam-Pryce,” Jonathan said.

For a moment Wesley looked delighted, but then the perpetual hard look returned. “You remember,” he said. There was no emotion behind the words. “You were one of Buffy’s friends.”

Jonathan visibly flinched. Buffy was never his friend, and now she wasn’t even someone he could count as an acquaintance.

Wesley saw the flinch, but if he thought anything of it, he did not say. Instead, he turned to Andrew. “And you are…?”

Andrew glanced at Jonathan for guidance. Jonathan shrugged; he had only worked with Wesley in passing, and at Buffy’s direction. He hadn’t seemed dangerous, but that was three years ago. Chances were back then he hadn’t seemed particularly dangerous either. “This is Andrew Wells,” Jonathan supplied.

“Wells,” Wesley repeated thoughtfully. Jonathan wondered how long this strange man had been living in Sunnydale by graduation. Had he been there for the nearly-disastrous prom? Jonathan had a faint memory of Cordelia dancing with a tall stranger, but maybe that was a false memory brought on by the unexpected trip down memory lane.

“How do you know the Slayer?” Andrew asked warily.

“I was her Watcher until she decided she no longer needed one,” Wesley replied, watching them both for any sort of confusion.

“Nuh-uh,” Andrew countered. “Mr. Giles was her Watcher.”

“He was,” Wesley agreed, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. “Until he got fired for insubordination and I took his place.

“A change that Buffy didn’t take very kindly, probably,” Jonathan muttered. He normally wouldn’t have said it out loud but damnit, he was tired of getting jerked around by this guy. At the moment, Jonathan sort of wished he had taken his chances with the police.

“What makes you say that?” Wesley asked coolly.

Jonathan looked away. “Because Mr. Giles is still around and you’re here in L.A. with an apartment that -” He cut himself off, blushing.

Wesley looked like he would very much like to know what Jonathan had to say about his apartment, but he apparently didn’t feel like pursuing it. “And why are you two travelling under assumed names?” he asked sharply. The Buffy thing must still have been a sore spot even after all this time to get such a blatantly confrontational change of subject.

“None of your business,” Andrew said, levelling his best glare at Wesley, who remained visibly unimpressed.

“Very well,” Wesley said, uncrossing his arms and going into his kitchen to fill three glasses with water. He brought two of them out to Jonathan and Andrew, then went back for the third one for himself. “You don’t have to tell me, but I’m the only person standing between you and a police investigation right now. Something tells me you’d like to stay as far away from the police as possible.”

“What about you?” Jonathan demanded with a lot more bravado than he actually felt. He took a cautious sip of the water; he didn’t think Wesley would bring them all this way just to poison them. “Why do you skulk in shadows without backup and threaten to kill innocent passersby just to get at a vampire?”

Wesley gave him an even, calculating look. “My problems aren’t with the police.” A hand came up automatically to scratch at his collar, so close to the long, angry scar. When he realised what he had done, he lowered his hand, looking chagrined.

Jonathan set his water down. He wanted to cut to the chase, get rid of all the bullshit. “What do you want from us? Why protect us, why bring us to you apartment? What are you after?”

Wesley also set down his water glass. “I want you to do something for me. It is a bit of an unusual request, but nothing dangerous. Something I can’t do by myself. You two appear to be in somewhat dire straits, so it may behoove you to take me up on this. If you say no, I won’t turn you in to the police, but you will be on your own to do whatever it is you came to L.A. to do.”

“What is it?” Andrew asked.

“I want you to rent an apartment. Sublet it, to be more precise.”

He was right - it was an unusual request. Jonathan frowned. “You acted all squirrelly and weird just to get us to sublet your apartment?”

“Not my apartment,” Wesley corrected him. “An apartment. It is a nice place; rent controlled. The original tenant has disappeared under strange circumstances. The people who are looking after her place will not be able to hold onto it much longer unless they find someone to sublet.”

“But you can’t do it yourself,” Jonathan surmised. “Are you… a suspect in this person’s disappearance?”

“No,” Wesley assured him with enough sincerity that Jonathan believed him. “But the, er… the girl’s friends are not feeling too kindly towards me right now. We had a difference of opinions, and I am not welcome there anymore. In fact, they don’t know it, but I’m conducting a search of my own. You only have to keep renting the apartment until she is found and brought home. I will pay for the apartment, but you will be the ones occupying it.” He looks at Jonathan. “You do not have to accept, but I have a feeling in these circumstances, it would be in your best interests to do so. It is your choice.”

Jonathan looked at Andrew. “Can we have some time to think about it?”

Wesley stood up. “You have until the morning. Sleep on it and let me know when you wake up. You two can take my room; I’ll be out here doing some research for a while.”

“Jonathan isn’t supposed to sleep if he has a concussion,” Andrew said, looking fretful.

“I’ll be fine,” Jonathan said at the same moment Wesley said, “It’s only a slight concussion. I’ll keep an eye on him throughout the night.”

Jonathan wasn’t sure if that was a comforting thought or not.

Following Wesley around as he showed them the bathroom and bedroom, Jonathan felt a strange sort of unreality that he did not think was entirely due to the bump on his head. 24 hours ago, they had been in Sunnydale plotting more supervillain stuff. Now Warren was dead, and Jonathan had received a major blast from the past, and tomorrow they would have to decide whether or not to take Wesley up on his offer. A place to live and protection in exchange for being the go-between for Wesley and his former friends. It didn’t sound especially nefarious, but there was definitely something Wesley wasn’t telling them.

After they had stripped down to boxers and t-shirts, and climbed under the covers of the large bed, Andrew shifted until he was facing Jonathan. Neither was particularly happy about the sleeping situation, though now that Jonathan thought about it, they probably would have been sharing beds in Mexico anyway to cut down on expenses. “What are we going to do, Jonathan?”

Jonathan was quiet for a long time, thinking. “I think it’s the best option we have. We should at least give it a shot. This girl’s friends might not sublet to us. And if we end up having to run again, then we’re no worse off than we were before.”

Andrew seemed satisfied with this answer. “Okay, he said, turning over so that he was on his stomach. Within a few minutes, he was asleep.

Jonathan lay awake for a long time afterwards, hoping he wasn’t about to make the second biggest mistake of his life.


	2. Chapter 2

Jonathan tossed and turned for hours that night. In spite of the ibuprofen he had taken before bed, his head was still a little sore, and he was too full of adrenaline to be able to switch his mind off. Everything felt distorted, unreal. Beside him, Andrew slept deeply, but fitfully. He whimpered a couple of times in his sleep. Jonathan didn’t know how to comfort him, so he stayed rigidly on his own side of the bed.

Sometime around 4 in the morning, he slipped out of bed and went to crack the bedroom door open. Wesley was still awake, immersed in his books. He showed no sign of flagging, much to Jonathan’s disappointment. He’d been hoping to sneak out and see if he could find any information on who Wesley Wyndam-Pryce really was. There was nothing in the bedroom - no knickknacks, not even a framed picture of himself or any friends or family. There were just more books, a few scraps of paper with information written over them (coordinates, times, dates, people’s names and addresses), and clothes. And weapons. Whatever Wesley was, he was a fighter first and foremost. Jonathan was having a hard time reconciling this man with the person he had met so long ago. 

One thing was really bothering him: both of his (admittedly hazy) memories of Wesley featured Cordelia Chase. He knew that she had come to Los Angeles after graduation; no one had heard from her in a while, but general consensus was that she had failed at her dream of becoming a movie star and was working as an office admin for a lame company. He wasn’t sure how much stock he put into Sunnydale rumours, but it wouldn’t surprise him. Cordelia could be overly dramatic sometimes, but she was never ever fake. And you had to be fake to be a good actress.

The question weighing on his mind, though, was whether or not Wesley was still in contact with Cordelia. It wasn’t that he was worried about what she thought about him anymore - he was well beyond trying to win the approval of Queen C - but she could blab to one of her remaining connections back in Sunnydale, and then their cover would be blown.

He hoped it didn’t come to that.

Jonathan crept back into bed and eventually drifted off to sleep. His dreams were incoherent but full of blood and fear; it felt like every time he woke himself from one nightmare, he fell asleep and had another. When he woke up finally for the last time, it was still dark in the room. For a moment, he thought it was still nighttime, but he noticed there were heavy, dark curtains pulled across the window blocking out any sunlight. He crept out of bed and cracked them open. The sun was fully up, and a glance at the bedside clock told him it was half past nine in the morning. Andrew’s head was completely covered by the bedspread, but judging by the movements underneath, he was awake.

“What are you doing?” Jonathan demanded.

Andrew emerged from the covers, looking rumpled and tired. “Making sure I’m not missing any chunks of skin or starting to turn into a newt or anything.”

“Do that in the bathroom,” Jonathan said irritably. He knew he shouldn’t be taking his exhaustion out on Andrew, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel bad. Especially when Andrew ignored him and ducked back under the covers.

Jonathan cracked the bedroom door open. Wesley was awake and looking considerably worse than he had the night before. His stubble was now a thick layer of scruff and his eyes were drooping behind his glasses. It wouldn’t surprise Jonathan if Wesley had stayed up all night. He caught sight of Jonathan peering at him through the crack and got up to busy himself in the adjacent kitchen.

Taking this as a sign to come out, Jonathan closed the bedroom door, grabbed his t-shirt and jeans from beside the bed, and got dressed before opening the door fully and venturing out into the living room. He went over to the desk in the corner and stared down at the piles of papers littering the surface. None of it made even a tiny bit of sense.

“Have you considered my proposition?”

Jonathan turned around, not quite able to hide how badly Wesley’s voice had startled him. The man stood a few paces behind him, proffering a steaming mug of coffee. Jonathan took it gratefully, breathing in the heavenly caffeinated aroma. “Thanks,” he muttered. “Uh, tea would probably be better for Andrew. You don’t want to see him on coffee.”

Wesley raised an eyebrow. “Indeed.” He went back into the kitchen and filled his electric kettle partway with water, then prepared a mug with a teabag in it. Waiting for the water to boil, he stood in the doorway between the kitchen and living room, watching as Jonathan took a sip. God, that tasted good.

“I’ve thought about it,” Jonathan said, in answer to his earlier question. “All we have to do is pretend like we’re the ones renting the apartment and that’s it?”

Wesley nodded, folding his arms over his chest. It seemed to be his go-to gesture of creating distance between himself and everyone around him. “I will pay the rent. It will be up to you to buy your own groceries and supplies. The apartment is fully furnished, but only one person lived there so there is only one bed. The rest is for you to figure out. If they decide not to sublet to you, then you can go on your way and I will compensate you for the delay to your plans.”

“What makes you think we can just be bought off? How do you have so much money to just throw around?” Jonathan asked.

“Why did you flinch when I mentioned the Slayer last night?” Wesley countered. If he thought to intimidate Jonathan though, he was way off. He didn’t even come close to as terrifying as Willow or Buffy.

“Why is your bedroom closet all barred up?” Jonathan’s snooping hadn’t been completely fruitless. The bars were an interesting development and for a while Jonathan had considered waking Andrew up and leaving in the middle of the night.

Wesley smiled without humour. “Very well, I won’t compensate you after all. Feel free to do this out of a sense of intrigued curiosity. I don’t care why you do it - I just need to know whether or not you will.”

The electric kettle switched off with a small click as the water came to a boil. Wesley retreated once more to pour the tea and bring it into the living room. He placed it on the coffee table for when Andrew decided to join them.

Jonathan took another long drink of his coffee, stalling. He wanted Andrew to hurry up so they could make this decision together. He was fairly certain - about 95% - that he knew what they would say, but he did not want to put words into Andrew’s mouth. Not when so much was at stake.

Fortunately, Andrew chose that moment to emerge from the bedroom, also fully dressed. His hair was still sticking up on end and he looked like a sleepy hedgehog. Jonathan pointed at the mug on the coffee table, which Andrew picked up after he plopped down on the couch next to Jonathan.

Jonathan glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “We’ll take you up on your offer,” he said. Beside him, Andrew made a small noise that could have signified any number of things, but did not protest.

Wesley nodded, as if this was exactly what he had expected to hear. There was no sign of surprise on his face. He went to his desk and picked up what looked like a business card; this was confirmed when he handed it to Jonathan.

 _Angel Investigations_ , the card read with a squiggly drawing next to it. Below, there was a name: _Winifred Burkle_. Along the bottom of the card was an address and telephone number.

“This is where you will go to speak with the people managing the missing girl’s apartment. Speak to Fred. Tell them you heard they would be subletting a place in Pearson Arms Apartments. Don’t tell them where you heard the information. Have you ever heard of a company called Wolfram & Hart?”

Jonathan frowned. “No.”

“Good,” Wesley said. “That will make things more believable.”

“What things?” Andrew asked, peering over Jonathan’s shoulder at the card.

Wesley continued as if he had not spoken. “If all goes smoothly, they will show you the apartment. I would not recommend using Larry Blaisdell’s name when you speak to them, as they might do a background check on you. I’ve taken the, er, liberty of tidying up a few things, but Fred is a far more experienced hacker.” Maybe Jonathan was imagining it, but there seemed to be a note of admiration in Wesley’s voice. “If she chose to dig further, your little record would come to light and you’ll probably end up getting arrested.”

“You never mentioned any of this before,” Jonathan protested.

“I wasn’t sure if you had a criminal record before I looked into it,” Wesley said blandly. “I didn’t set out to track you down or anything, Jonathan. You are not some grand Chosen One. Our meeting last night was pure chance - but a fortunate one. In any case, the information I did find was spotty. It seems the Sunnydale Police Department was attacked before you two could be fully processed.” His expression never changed, but the close way he was watching them gave Jonathan the feeling that he was fishing for...something.

“Yeah, we were able to escape in the confusion,” Jonathan said, hoping he gave nothing away.

“We’re jailbirds,” Andrew added. “We’re very dangerous and not to be messed with so I hope you know what you’re doing because we will not -”

“Be that as it may,” Wesley said over him. “The earlier you go, the better.”

With that, it was like they ceased to exist. Wesley sat down at his desk and began sorting through books and documents, leaving Andrew and Jonathan to finish their drinks in silence.

\---

The Hyperion was a large, intimidating building. Jonathan paid the cab driver as frugally as possible without feeling bad, then double checked the address against what was typed on the card. This was definitely the right place, but Wesley had not said anything about a hotel. Of course, he hadn’t said much of anything. After he started ignoring them, Andrew and Jonathan had spent a brief amount of time trying to figure out L.A.’s transit system before giving up and calling a cab instead. Jonathan did not want to ask to borrow Wesley’s bike - for one thing he was annoyed with Wesley’s feigned deafness, for another he wasn’t sure he’d be able to drive it, for a third he was certain he would get lost within minutes on L.A.’s streets.

“Are you sure this is it? Let me see the card,” Andrew whined. He was being his most nerve-grating today, and Jonathan had to grit his teeth as he passed the card over to Andrew. 

“I got a baaaad feeling about this, Chewie,” Andrew said, examining the card. “Do you really think this is legit?”

“I guess we’re about to find out,” Jonathan muttered, leading the way into the hotel’s courtyard. There were flowers everywhere and a fountain that may have once been beautiful but now only looked aged and exhausted. No water flowed through its pipes, and leaves coated the bottom. With only a small amount of hesitation, Jonathan pulled open the front door and walked into a stately, almost intimidating lobby. 

The first thing he noticed was the silence. Their footsteps echoed ominously as they walked down the front steps into the sunken lobby. It felt like a ghost town. Or a ghost hotel, he supposed. He walked cautiously over to the front desk, which was mostly bare. Andrew zeroed in on a tray holding dozens of business cards just like the one he still clutched in his hand. He looked them over and began picking ones up at random.

“H-hello?” Jonathan called. There was one of those service bells on the counter. He tapped it experimentally.

“Hello?” A feminine voice repeated back. Jonathan and Andrew both jerked around in surprise. Coming down one of the several staircases was a waify, pretty woman with long brown hair and inquisitive eyes. Jonathan’s heart missed several beats. “I’m sorry, we’re not taking on any new cases right now.”

Jonathan stepped forward on slightly shaky legs. Of all the terrifying things he had encountered in the last 24 hours, somehow talking to a pretty stranger still ranked pretty high. “We’re not here about a case. We’re looking for Winifred Burkle?”

“That’s me. I’m Fred,” the woman said, striding across the lobby. She looked them over curiously, eyes alighting on the several business cards Andrew now held in his hands.

Before Jonathan could figure out what to say next, the front door slammed open and two men entered: one a boy a few years younger than Andrew with shaggy hair and proud face, the other a hard-looking black man carrying donuts and coffees. The second man raised his eyebrows at Jonathan and Andrew, then addressed Fred. “New case?”

“We’re not taking on new cases right now, Charles,” Fred reminded him sharply. “We have enough on our plates and can’t take on the extra workload.”

Charles shrugged, crossing the lobby and plopping the food and drinks on the counter next to Jonathan. “We’ve got a few minutes open right now. What’s goin’ on?”

“A-actually we’re here because we heard you might have an apartment to rent,” Jonathan said, hating the way his voice squeaked.

Charles and Fred exchanged looks over Jonathan’s head. “How’d you hear about that?” Charles asked. “We’ve only been talking about it and haven’t even decided to put the place on the market yet.”

Jonathan floundered. They hadn’t thought this through, and now they were about to get busted before they could even begin. These guys worked for an investigation firm - of course they would have questions and would want to know details. Before he could try to come up with a good excuse that did not involve Wesley’s name, Andrew piped up, “Lorne told us. He said you guys might not be able to hold onto the place much longer unless you found someone to sublet it.”

Jonathan hoped no surprise showed on his face. What the hell was Andrew talking about?

The two adults (the teenager having absconded with a donut and left when it became apparent there was no case to be had) looked a little more relaxed, though there was still some suspicion clouding their faces. “How’s Lorne doing these days?” Charles asked.

Andrew shrugged noncommittally. “Good. Busy. He only had a few minutes to chat but he heard we were coming around this way and needed a place to stay. That’s when he mentioned you. He gave us your card, said Fred was the one to talk to. Can I have a donut?”

Neither of them answered his question; they were too busy doing that weird thing some people do where they communicate without words. Jonathan glanced at Andrew questioningly, but Andrew merely slipped the business cards he’d been holding into his back pocket, leaving just the one Wesley had given him in his hand.

“Alright, might as well take a look at the place,” Charles said. He held out his hand to Jonathan. “I’m Gunn.”

“Jonathan,” he replied, shaking Gunn’s hand as firmly as he could.

“Andrew,” Andrew said when it was his turn. He winced visibly at Gunn’s strong grip.

Fred disappeared into the office next to the front desk and came out carrying a purse. She cast a worried look up the stairs that the teenager had gone up. “Will Connor be okay on his own?”

“He’ll be fine,” Gunn said. To Andrew and Jonathan, “You guys have wheels?”

Jonathan shook his head. “We took a cab here from - from our hotel.”

Fred threw a set of keys to Gunn, who caught them easily. “We’ll take the car, then.” She walked out the front door, obviously expecting without a doubt that the three men would follow her.

“The car” was apparently a Plymouth GTX from the late ‘60s. Jonathan didn’t know overly much about cars, but he liked the look of this one. It was suave and classy. On the ride over to Pearson Arms Apartments, Fred filled them in on some details they already knew - specifically that the girl who originally rented the apartment had gone missing and they weren’t sure how long Andrew and Jonathan would actually be renting, since she could return at any moment. They assured her that was fine. It was only a ten minute drive, though Jonathan’s wariness and stress made it feel a lot longer.

The apartment complex was nice, though it showed some signs of age. The apartment itself was bright and spacious and sunny, an inviting place with a rather feminine touch. Gunn unlocked the door and seemed to hesitate while opening it, but then stepped confidently through and ushered Jonathan and Andrew inside. Fred closed the door with a soft click.

“Feel free to take a look around. We’ve cleared out most of the real personal stuff, so you can poke around a bit,” Fred said.

Jonathan wandered from room to room, looking things over but mostly feeling overwhelmed. Andrew seemed hellbent on opening every drawer and cupboard in the whole place. As soon as they made their way into the master bedroom and away from potential eavesdropping, Jonathan grabbed Andrew by the arm. “Who the hell is Lorne?” he hissed.

“Owww,” Andrew said pointedly until Jonathan released him. He rubbed his abused arm for a moment before reaching into his back pocket to pull out the business cards. He sorted through them until he found the one he was looking for.

 _Krevlornswath_ , the card said. Then, below it, “ _Lorne_.”

“It’s a Deathwok name, I think,” Andrew said. “Why would a demon work for a private investigator? Especially from a clan that is known for their violence and battle skills rather than seeking or truth spells?”

“Did you see their weapons cabinet?” Jonathan replied. “I don’t think these guys are normal private eyes. What do you think Wesley’s connection to them is?”

Andrew shuffled through his cards. “I found this missorted in the middle of Fred’s.” He handed it over: a crisp card bearing the same logo and reading _Wesley Wyndam-Pryce_. Jonathan felt a cold shock pierce his chest. What the _hell_ was going on?

“Were there any more?” he asked.

Andrew flipped through the cards. “Yeah. Charles Gunn, Angel - I guess that’s the guy the company is named for - and Cordelia Chase.” He held the last of these out to Jonathan. “I was gonna show you later but you ruined the surprise.”

This wasn’t a surprise - this was a heart attack in the making. So Wesley did know Cordelia. And so did the two people currently standing in the living room. It was a miracle Cordelia hadn’t been there in the lobby when Jonathan and Andrew arrived.

Unless she was whose apartment they were currently standing in. Neither Fred nor Gunn had ever mentioned the girl’s name.

“Do you think it’s Cordelia Chase from Sunnydale?” Andrew asked. “How many people in California have that name?”

Jonathan frowned at Cordelia’s card. “Only one,” he said. It was too unique of a name, too much of a coincidence. If she really were missing, he felt bad for her. She may not have been the nicest person in the world, but she didn’t deserve whatever had happened to her. Probably.

He slipped the card into his own pocket just as a faint wind stirred his hair. He looked over at Andrew to tell him to close the window, but it already was and Andrew was poking around in the large walk-in closet.

Jonathan walked back into the hallway and started to head towards the kitchen when he heard Fred’s voice drifting from the living room.

“ - sure they’re not from Wolfram and Hart?”

There was that name Wesley had mentioned earlier. Jonathan paused, straining to hear Gunn’s deep voice answer.

“Do they look like Wolfram and Hart material?” Gunn scoffed. “I’ve seen dogs bigger than Jonathan. And what’s his face - the other one? Listening to him talk is like listening to video commentary on a Star Trek episode. Wolfram and Hart wouldn’t know subtlety if it punched them in the face; there’s no way these guys are working for ‘em.”

Fred did not sound convinced. “I wish Lorne were here to read them.”

“Lorne’s the one who sent them to us. He wouldn’t have if he thought they weren’t good people.”

“We only have their word for that,” Fred countered. “I wish we could get ahold of him. There’s something about this that just doesn’t feel right.”

“Hey, now,” Gunn said calmly. “We don’t have Lorne but we got the next best thing. Haven’t heard any screams or slamming doors yet, have you?”

“No,” Fred said, sounding slightly mollified. “I guess that’s a good sign.”

“What did the computer have to say about them?”

“They’re from Sunnydale. Other than that, not much to tell.”

Gunn whistled softly. “Sunnydale, huh? That alone says a lot. Maybe we should tell them.”

“I don’t think so,” Fred said sharply. “It would just make things even more complicated.”

There was a sound of movement, and Jonathan quickly darted through the nearest doorway, which happened to lead into a small room with neat stacks of boxes.

“That was a second bedroom,” Fred’s voice said behind him. Jonathan jumped, unaware that she had come up behind him. “Sorry. The girl who lived here had been usin’ it as a really big closet and now we’re using it to store her stuff until she comes back. So there’s really just the one bedroom.” She motioned for Jonathan to follow her back out into the hallway. “We’d really appreciate it if you didn’t go snoopin’ through her stuff while you live here.”

“We wouldn’t,” Jonathan assured her quickly, shaking his head as if that somehow lent credence to his words.

“Good.” She shut the door firmly; there was no lock on the door but the finality of the movement was clear. “If you guys like it, then we think you’ll be a good fit here.”

Andrew stepped out of the bathroom and came towards them. “I think we like it,” Jonathan said.

“Wait, I haven’t seen the kitchen yet,” Andrew said.

Jonathan glared at him. The kitchen could be a literal hole in the wall for all they were supposed to care. All they had to do was convince Fred and Gunn to let them rent it, which they had already succeeded in. Andrew ignored him, instead following Fred as she showed him through to the nicely appointed kitchen. Andrew inspected each appliance with a look of - feigned, Jonathan knew - knowledgeable scrutiny.

“What kind of metal is the sink made of?” he asked after about five minutes of poking around. Fred, who had been looking out the large picture window in the living room, turned around and gave him a puzzled look.

“Um….steel? I guess?” She looked at Gunn, who shrugged.

Andrew nodded wisely. “Ah, good.” Jonathan resisted the urge to thump his head against the nearest wall.

“Are you done yet?” Jonathan said in an undertone.

“We have to make it believable,” Andrew insisted just as quietly. Raising his voice into a tone he assumed was authoritative, he said, “We like the apartment.”

Fred smiled, though it looked a little strained around the eyes. Jonathan hoped it was more to do with the fact that they were renting out their missing friend’s apartment than any reservations about the renters themselves. “You guys will pay by a weekly basis, since we don’t know exactly when we’ll be kicking you out. When can you move in?”

“Immediately?” Jonathan said. “Unless that’s too soon. We, uh...don’t really have much. We’ve been travelling pretty light.”

Fred glanced at Gunn and again they did that thing where they communicated silently. Gunn dug into his pocket and pulled out his own keys. He selected the right one and slid it off the keyring. “Y’all’ll have to make a copy so you can have two. Fred’s gonna keep her copy in case we need to get in here for anything. Cool?”

“Sure,” Jonathan said at the same time that Andrew replied, “Cool.”

Gunn pressed the key into Jonathan’s hand. “And if you try to fuck us over, you’re both dead meat.” He smiled as if he were joking, but there was a hardness in his eyes. Jonathan noticed for the first time a myriad of small scars on his face, neck, and hands. “Cool?”

“Cool,” Jonathan said quietly, meeting his eyes.

Jonathan slipped the key into his pocket and then pulled out his wallet to pay for the first week’s rent upfront. If either Fred or Gunn were wary about accepting cash instead of a check, neither showed it. There was a moment of awkwardness when it wasn’t clear if Jonathan and Andrew should leave with them or immediately set up camp in the apartment. Gunn offered them a ride to their hotel to pick up their stuff, which Jonathan quickly demurred. They would take care of it themselves, he assured them.

At last they left, and Andrew and Jonathan stared at each other. Step one was complete - now what was step two?

Jonathan decided to take things in a logical order. He looked up nearby locksmiths and hardware stores, finding one just a few blocks away. He gave Andrew some of the money he had stashed in his sock before leaving Wesley’s apartment (he did not trust the man enough to leave money just lying around for the taking) with instructions to go to the locksmith and then to the grocery to pick up some food.

“Don’t overdo it. Just get the basics - about a week’s worth,” he said firmly.

“What are you going to do?” Andrew asked.

Jonathan needed to call Wesley and tell him they had succeeded and that Wesley already owed them money. He figured it would be easier to do without Andrew hovering nearby.

"I take it you were successful," Wesley said by way of greeting.

"Yeah," Jonathan said. He wondered when would be appropriate to mention the money they'd had to pay up front. It wasn't a lot - comparatively speaking - but Wesley had said he would pay for the apartment. He also didn't know if he should mention the business card Andrew found. He felt a little sick to think of all the secrets and lies flying around and how his and Andrew's lives were on a fine edge. "What now?"

"I'll bring your stuff over." He hung up without waiting for Jonathan's reply.

At which point Jonathan realised that for the first time in a long while he was, physically speaking, well and truly alone.

He sat down on the couch and stared at nothing in particular, feeling lost and incredibly, terrifyingly small.


	3. Chapter 3

Jonathan did not have much time to wallow in his circumstances; thirty minutes after hanging up the phone, there was a knock at the door. Jonathan stretched onto his tiptoes to look out the peephole. It was Wesley. Jonathan unbolted the door and stepped back to let him in.

He had brought the backpack full of supplies with him, but it was clear from the way he didn’t even look at Jonathan when he handed it over that he had something else on his mind. Whatever was the reason he needed to gain access to this apartment - the reason he was willing to shell out quite a bit of money for the privilege. He pushed the backpack into Jonathan’s arms and made a beeline down the hallway to the master bedroom. Jonathan felt the air move oddly around him as he passed.

“Come on in,” Jonathan muttered, shutting the front door behind him. He started to follow Wesley to the bedroom, but nearly got bowled over when Wesley came storming back to the living room. He looked around, a slightly manic glint in his eye.

“There’s nothing here,” he said to himself.

Jonathan looked around. There was plenty here, but it was all impersonal and generic. “Nothing that belongs to Cordelia, no,” he said, testing out a suspicion that had been growing the longer he sat alone on the couch. “They packed up all her stuff and stored it away.”

Wesley glared at him but did not correct his assumption - this apartment definitely belonged to Cordelia Chase. Jonathan’s heart leapt into his throat at the silent confirmation. But apparently Wesley wasn’t about to give up. He suddenly remembered something and went back down the short hallway to the small second bedroom. He turned the handle.

The door refused to budge.

Jonathan frowned. There definitely wasn’t a lock on the door - so how come Wesley couldn’t open it no matter how hard he jiggled the handle? Wesley shoved his shoulder into the door to no avail: the door remained steadfastly closed.

“I do not have time for this ridiculousness,” Wesley growled at the door. Jonathan raised his eyebrows but did not comment. “Finding Angel will be the key to finding Cordelia, and the answer to where both of them are may be among her possessions. Now, if you wouldn’t mind…”

“I don’t know what -” Jonathan started to say, but Wesley ignored him and turned the handle one more time. This time the door opened without resistance.

Jonathan followed Wesley’s entry into the room, staring at the door as he passed by it. It didn’t feel magical in any way, but what other explanation was there for what just happened? Had Cordelia been putting up protection spells around her apartment?

He touched the door, sending a seed of magic into it. Nothing but a faint electric shock. Wesley was already sorting through boxes. They did not seem to be in any particular order or cohesion.

“What are you looking for?” Jonathan asked.

Wesley glanced at him but did not answer. Jonathan was really starting to get annoyed with being jerked around like this. “How come you didn’t tell me this was Cordelia’s apartment,” he asked loudly.

“It was irrelevant,” Wesley said, pushing aside another box.

“It was not,” Jonathan groused. _Real mature, Levinson_ , he thought to himself. But Wesley was hardly acting any more mature than him right now. He glanced into the box Wesley had just discarded. It was mostly clothes, but when Jonathan put his hand into the box, he felt something hard and rectangular at the bottom. He fished it out: it was their senior yearbook.

Oh.

Jonathan slid the book back amongst the clothes. He would go down memory lane some other time - when it wouldn’t hurt to see pictures of Willow and Buffy and Xander. When he didn’t hate himself for what he had let himself get into. There was a good possibility that day would never come. He pulled up another box and dug around in that one for a moment, but it was just more of the same. Cordelia sure had a lot of clothes.

“What happened to her?” he asked.

“She was on her way to meet Angel and she disappeared somewhere en route. Her car was found abandoned on the side of the highway. Absolutely no sign of how she left the scene. No magical residue, no indication of a demon in the area. No witnesses,” Wesley said, distracted by the stuff he was currently sorting through. “Angel disappeared too, but at least there was some sign of other people being present. He went down fighting. Cordelia just vanished.”

“People can’t just vanish into thin air, though,” Jonathan said. “Well, maybe if you hit them with an invisibility gun, but even then they’d leave footprints.”

“Invisibility gun?” Wesley repeated, disbelief thick in his voice. “We’re talking about magic and demons, not bad science fiction.”

Jonathan didn’t bother to correct him. “Do you think she was abducted?” he asked instead.

Wesley shrugged. “Not in the way you are thinking. And certainly not by ordinary people. No regular human would be able to lay a hand on Cordelia and get away with it.”

Jonathan snorted. “Are we talking about the same Cordelia Chase? Faints at the sight of a bad haircut?”

Wesley raised an eyebrow. “A lot has changed in the last three years.”

Jonathan looked down. “I’m starting to get that.”

He rifled through another box and found a framed photograph of six people and a baby. Jonathan recognized Gunn, Fred, and Wesley right away. He recognized Cordelia only by her big smile and the birthmark on her cheek - everything else about her looked completely different. Her hair was short, her eyes tired, and she held the baby close, protective. Jonathan didn’t know what to make of this.

There was also a green-skinned demon in a dapper suit in the photograph. Must be Krevlornswath, though Andrew would know for sure. The last person was someone he vaguely recognised from high school. Not a student, but someone who was around often enough, lurking in the shadows of The Bronze after the sun went down. Usually in the company of Buffy and her friends. Angel. Jonathan hadn’t made the connection before, and wasn’t sure what it meant now that he had. Among warlocks and those who dabbled in the black arts, there were murmurs about the vampire with a soul. What did it mean that Cordelia had been working for him all this time and they had apparently disappeared on the same night?

“What are you looking at?” Wesley asked sharply.

Jonathan showed him. A look of genuine pain and sorrow crossed his face before it hardened into his usual stoicism. “Put that down, it isn’t important.”

Jonathan obeyed, but he wasn’t ready to drop the subject just yet. “Who is the baby?”

“None of your business.”

Jonathan might have pushed further, but at that moment the front door opened with a loud bang. Jonathan jumped to his feet and went into the front hallway to greet Andrew and take some of the bags that were currently hindering his coordination.

“Did you get the key?”

“Uh huh,” Andrew affirmed, lugging the groceries into the kitchen and heaving them onto the counter. “Ow. My arms are sore.”

“How much stuff did you get?” Jonathan asked, peering into a couple of the bags. He set his own burden down on the floor.

“As much as I could with the money you gave me,” Andrew said. “I got all the basics: flour, sugar, noodles, rice, apples, carrots, honey, bread, cereal, tomato juice, lunch meat, cheese, condiments - hey do you like honey dijon mustard? I’m not a fan, but I thought you might like it so I got some.” He pulled a large lollipop out of one of the bags, unwrapped it, and popped it into his mouth.

Jonathan shook his head in wonder. He hadn’t given Andrew that much money; he’d been expecting a loaf of bread and some bologna, maybe a couple potatoes. “How did you carry all this home?”

Andrew pulled the sucker out of his mouth to speak. “Um, I sort of had some help. Can you put this away? I need to, uh… run something back to the grocery.”

Jonathan stared at him. “Did you steal one of their shopping carts?” Granted, in terms of crime, it wasn’t exactly something they would get arrested for, but it wasn’t a good thing to draw attention to yourself when you’re trying to lay low.

“Noooooo,” Andrew said. “I don’t steal things anymore. I borrowed it.”

“Well, unborrow it,” Jonathan snapped. “This isn’t exactly the sort of neighbourhood where people leave grocery carts in their front yard. You’re going to draw attention to us.” Jonathan’s stomach rumbled, and he suddenly remembered that all he’d had was a candy bar the previous night and not much else before that. “While you’re doing that, I’ll unload the groceries and make us some lunch.”

Andrew looked disappointed at being denied the responsibility of preparing food, but Jonathan felt no sympathy - Andrew brought it on himself when he overburdened himself with groceries and stole a cart to carry them all. Besides, Jonathan was hungry and didn’t want to wait for Andrew to get back before eating. Unlike Andrew, Jonathan had not begged a doughnut off their new landlords.

The rhythm of sorting and storing the groceries was a soothing distraction. It took his mind off the whirlwind that had been his life for the last two days. Jonathan popped open the fridge to put away the eggs and half gallon of milk, and while he was at it, he knew Andrew had some cheese around here somewhere. But it was in that bag way off to the side, and Jonathan wouldn’t be able to reach it without the fridge door closing. Maybe it was silly to be that lazy, but he really didn’t want to open the fridge again. If only he could reach the bag without removing his leg from propping the door open….

Jonathan happened to glance down and paused. No, wait...here was the cheese, in the bag at his feet. But he could have sworn that bag was empty. Had Andrew gotten two things of cheese? No, wait, there was more stuff in the bag: all of it in need of refrigeration. Did Andrew put all the refrigerated stuff closest to the fridge to make it easier to put away?

“No way,” Jonathan muttered out loud. “Andrew has never been that organised in his life.”

So how did the cheese end up by Jonathan’s feet when he was certain it had been all the way across the kitchen?

Of course there was the very real possibility that Jonathan was just sleep-deprived - or actually losing his mind. Ignoring the sense of impending insanity, he managed to put away the rest of the groceries and was making sandwiches (cheese, ham, and mayo) when Andrew came back. He put the sandwiches on plates, added a fistful of chips to each and an apple. It was a simple lunch, but plentiful, and Andrew accepted the food without protest.

He had just taken his first bite when Wesley finally exited the spare bedroom, pushing something deep into his front pocket. He strode for the front door, not even bothering to glance at Jonathan and Andrew as he headed out. Jonathan jumped up to intercept him.

“Um, Wesley,” he started, then stopped. Wesley looked a wreck - his eyes were slightly red and stood out sharply against his pale face.

“What?” Wesley asked.

Jonathan floundered on what to actually say. He wanted to ask how Wesley planned to track down Cordelia and Angel, wanted to know if there was anything he could do to help. He felt compelled to do as much as he could to be of assistance. There was something...cathartic about the idea of helping out one former classmate to balance out how he had helped destroy another. He could never do enough to atone for what he did to Willow and the others - even if it wasn’t all directly his fault - but it was a start.

“We paid for the first week’s rent upfront,” Jonathan said instead. “We, uh…”

“Of course,” Wesley said crisply. He pulled a wad of cash out of his jacket pocket. “This will pay a full month’s rent - that is, if they are charging you what Cordelia paid.”

“I think so,” Jonathan said. Their business cards said they helped the helpless - surely that meant they would not take advantage of a couple of subletters by making a profit off the rent. Was he supposed to count the money in front of Wesley to make sure it was all there? That’s what Warren would have done - a subtle but firm signal to the person that Warren did not trust them.

Jonathan shoved the bills into his own pocket to count later. Wesley’s face twitched slightly - in amusement or disdain, Jonathan could not tell. “That is a good way to get taken advantage of,” he told Jonathan.

“I’m tired of not being able to trust the people around me,” Jonathan admitted quietly.

Wesley huffed a laugh that held no humour. “Welcome to reality. Even the people who call themselves your family are only a single mistake from turning their backs on you forever.”

Jonathan looked away, uncomfortable. “Are you going to do a locator spell?” he asked, changing the subject.

Wesley shook his head. “I’ve already done one; it only got me so far. The rest I will have to figure out some other way.”

Crossing his arms defensively over his chest, Jonathan mumbled, “Two people doing a spell together might have better results.”

There was a long moment of silence; it was hard to tell if Wesley was considering his proposition seriously or not. At last he said, “I have a small group of fighters who hunt and kill demons. But I work alone in my search for Angel and Cordelia. It’s better that way.”

Jonathan wasn’t sure what to say to that; he had offered and been rejected and there was no point in pressing the matter. Wesley reached for the door again and this time Jonathan did not stop him.

He did, however, pause before leaving entirely. “For whatever it’s worth, there is someone in this flat you can trust,” Wesley said quietly. “Provided you are kind enough, you will find that you have protection.

Jonathan’s brow furrowed and he glanced back at the kitchen. Wesley had met Andrew less than a day ago, and this was the assessment he came to? Clearly he had no idea what he was talking about. As long as Andrew had to rely on Jonathan, he would be loyal, but the minute he did not need Jonathan anymore? It would be just like the jetpack incident all over again. Kindness had nothing to do with it - in fact, if Warren was any indication, Andrew was looking for the exact opposite of kindness. Who was Wesley to say that Andrew was any sort of trustworthy, and with such confidence?

Jonathan let him leave without further comment, and returned to his sandwich.

\---

That night, Jonathan let Andrew take the bed. Ostensibly, they were going to switch off who got to sleep in the bed, with Andrew taking the first week and then Jonathan would get the second week. But Jonathan honestly had no intention of sleeping in Cordelia Chase’s bed, even if the sheets were freshly changed (and apparently 1000 count thread, according to Andrew, though he may have just been guessing based on the softness and quality). He made himself a nest out of couch cushions, pillows, and blankets instead. He had napped briefly in the afternoon, falling asleep on the couch along with Andrew as they channel surfed on Cordelia’s nice television. Apparently a receptionist’s salary for a private investigator was better than one would expect. She even had a basic cable package that included the Food Network, which is what Jonathan reawoke to at nearly five in the evening. It also included the Sci-Fi channel, much to both Andrew and his delight.

Still, by the time the clock rolled around to eleven, Jonathan was exhausted again. The hours had slipped by so slowly with nothing to do but veg in front of the television. A hefty portion of their time in The Trio had been devoted to doing exactly that, with heated debates during the commercial breaks. But it was different now. Jonathan couldn’t help but keep one ear tuned for any sign of Willow swooping down on them. What that sign would be, he had no idea - but he wanted to be prepared for the possibility.

He wondered what had ended up happening to her, but it was a thought he only entertained for a split second before shutting it down. There was a not-small chance she had burned herself up with all the power she had been channelling. And that would be one more death on their consciences.

He chose to believe she was still alive. Grieving and possibly unstable - but alive.

Sleep came slightly easier that night, if only because Jonathan was exhausted beyond belief. He was dreaming almost before his head hit the nearest pillow.

 _He was in what he assumed to be a forest. The foliage was thick and full of shadows - everywhere Jonathan turned, he was surrounded by trees and bushes, many reaching out to him with thorny branches. He backed up a few steps to avoid being smacked in the face by a large branch that swung in a wind he could not feel. His foot connected with an exposed root, and went tumbling down, his foot shooting out from under him_ -

and Jonathan opened his eyes, whole body jerking in response to the sensation of falling. He lay frozen for a moment, trying to calm his heart rate and breath. The dream had felt so real - like he was actually in that forest and had fallen down. And...there was something else. An awareness of a presence that had been chasing him - or was about to start chasing him.

Jonathan turned over onto his stomach and settled back down. He took a few deep, soothing breaths and within a few minutes had drifted back to sleep.

_They are in the basement lair. It is full of all the gadgets and gizmos they concocted together, all the nerdy paraphernalia, all the plans for world domination. But it doesn’t feel right, somehow. It feels...empty. Like all the stuff surrounding him is just a giant projection. If he touches the whiteboard, he thinks his hand will pass right through it. “Why are we here?” he asks._

_“Why not here?” Warren replies. “You used to love it so much. Remember when you would beg me to let you come over?”_

_That’s not true, Jonathan knows, but he can’t find the words to protest. Warren invited them of his own free will - both of them. He may have not wanted Jonathan around later, when Jonathan proved not to be as controllable as Warren hoped, but in the beginning? Jonathan was just as welcome as Andrew, and Warren just as eager to have them over as they had been to come. “You’re dead,” he says. Because he knows it is true. Warren is dead._

_“Yup,” Warren agrees easily. “And yet here I am.”_

_“What do you want?” Jonathan rests his hand on the nearest workbench, careful not to touch anything. He feels like it is a void that is calling to him._

_Warren grins easily, manically. “Everything,” he says. “I want the world, Sparky. I’m going to take it all. And I’m going to start with everything you love.”_

_“You’ve got the wrong mage,” Jonathan says. “You took everything Willow loves.”_

_Warren - still grinning - turns and walks up the basement stairs. Jonathan follows. He insists it’s so he can keep an eye on Warren, make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone - but innately he knows he has a morbid curiosity about what Warren thinks he loves most._

_They emerge from Warren’s basement into Jonathan’s childhood kitchen. Jonathan does not think to question the sudden change of scenery. But he does note that the room is conspicuously empty. There are no notes on the fridge, no bowl of fruit on the table, no dirty dishes waiting to be put in the dishwasher. It’s the kitchen Jonathan remembers, but there is no life here._

_“I will take away your parents,” Warren says. “I will take away your whole family.”_

_They step out the front door and are in the the front entryway of the Sunnydale High School ruins. “I will take away your friends - what few you had. I will take away all of your achievements. Your favourite teachers, your after school projects, your hobbies. Buffy trusted you enough to enlist your help setting up the library. What does she think of you now? She hates you. Willow was the only other Jewish kid in school and you two were friends for a while before you drifted apart. Now, if she saw you, she would kill you without hesitation. I did that to you.”_

_“No, I did that to myself,” Jonathan says. He could have said no; he could have walked away. But he was intoxicated with the idea of finally having friends and getting the world to recognise his strengths. Warren wanted to take away his achievements? How could you take away something that didn’t even exist? Jonathan had never achieved anything in his life - at least nothing that anyone ever acknowledged._

_“I can take away Andrew,” Warren continues - and this time Jonathan knows that is completely and utterly true. “Where would you be without him right now?”_

_Warren leans in close and now they are back in the forest and the thing that was chasing him has caught up to him and he thinks he might collapse from the weight of it. Warren grabs his shoulder, preventing him from moving. He has no skin, Jonathan suddenly realises. His sinewy lips hover a half-inch from Jonathan’s ear as he whispers, “I can take away y-”_

“You won’t believe the amazing price of just six installments of $19.99 each - that’s right, you heard me: just six installments of $19.99. But wait, there’s more!”

Jonathan’s eyes flew open at the sudden sound. He was dizzy and sweating and not sure where he was until he moved slightly and felt the couch cushions dig into his belly. The television had come on unexpectedly, at a volume loud enough to wake him up from a deep sleep, but apparently not loud enough that it disturbed Andrew. Jonathan fumbled along the ground for the remote, but it was not where he had left it. He sat up.

There it was - on the couch end table. Definitely not where Jonathan had left it because he distinctly remembered turning off the television from his nest, and the end table was too far away for him to reach. He shuffled along the floor and grabbed it - but instead of shutting off the television, he just turned the volume down until he could barely hear it. The bright colours of the infomercial were grounding, almost soothing. He put his face in his hands, trying to push the image of Warren out of his head.

 _I can take away your life_ , was what he was about to say. Jonathan knew. Literally or metaphorically, he was not sure, but his blood ran cold at the thought of Warren killing him from beyond the grave. Surely he couldn’t do that.

Could he?

Jonathan shivered in the dark. The air felt very cold - colder even than it should be when the air conditioning was running, which it currently was not. Sitting up against the couch (he was too afraid to go back to sleep and see what new messages his mind wanted to attribute to Warren), he drew a fleece blanket up around his shoulders. The dream had seemed so...lucid. More cohesive and realistic than any dream Jonathan could remember having, in spite of the shifting setting and Warren’s state of being.

“Warren can’t send me messages from beyond the grave,” he said out loud. Now that he was sitting up, the terror he had felt in the dream felt so much further away. “And he definitely can’t kill me. He may have taken away my life, but at least I still have my heartbeat.” 

He ignored what his dream self had said, the words that stayed so vividly in his mind upon waking: Warren hadn’t taken away Jonathan’s life; Jonathan had done that all on his own.

Cautiously, Jonathan lay back down. It was a little warmer nestled down among all the blankets.

 _Provided you are kind…_ Wesley’s words from earlier in the day echoed in Jonathan’s mind. Had he been in broad daylight, he would have felt silly, but here in the dark with just the light of the television for company, Jonathan felt like anything was possible.

“Thanks for waking me up,” he said to the room. “If I have another nightmare, will you do it again?”

There was no answer, but Jonathan didn’t really expect one.


	4. Chapter 4

The first week in Cordelia’s flat was a endurance exercise in patience. The first couple of days were filled with a tense sort of distraction as they were still convinced Willow would swoop down from the sky and destroy the entire apartment building with a blast of fire. Jonathan didn’t even dare log into his usual wicca message boards to see what the internet had to say - if anything - about the crazy power in Sunnydale that he was sure people for hundreds of miles around southern California had felt. He idly made lists of potential jobs he could take on, none of which were very appealing, but all the epitome of anonymous. Jobs nobody wanted or wouldn’t require too many questions or were on the internet. He stared at his list, trying to figure out how he was supposed to go about getting any of these jobs.

The only work he’d done was at the local movie theater in Sunnydale, full-time during summer, part-time during the school year. After the formation of The Trio, though, he had quit and not taken on another job. He thought he would never need to work again.

At the rate they were spending money on groceries, especially with Andrew’s nose for bargains, they could live for a couple of months on their stash of bank loot. But that did not account for needing to buy new clothes and maybe some comic books (there was no way Andrew was going to let too many issues X-Men go by without purchasing them). So minus out that money too, and they were down to a month of easy living.

And that was assuming they’d be living in this apartment for that amount of time. If they had to leave tomorrow, where would they be?

After a few days of switching between two sets of clothes, Jonathan finally allowed himself a small chunk of money and took a trip to the local Goodwill. It was a bit of a hike - Cordelia lived in a nice neighbourhood that wasn’t exactly teeming with Goodwills and Salvation Armies - but he was able to find some jeans, shirts, and a decent jacket for cheap. For underwear and socks, he detoured to a Walmart-type superstore that promised amazing bargains. When he came home, he found Andrew chopping up onions and carrots.

“Where did you go?” Andrew demanded at once. It was the first time Jonathan had gone out by himself, and he hadn’t told Andrew he was leaving. In hindsight, that was probably a bad idea but Jonathan had been a little wrapped up in his own thoughts.

“I went to Goodwill and got some clothes.” He went to where he kept their stash of money and pulled out some more bills - slightly more than he had allowed himself, plus the change that was left over from his own excursion. He brought it back to Andrew and laid it on the counter next to the cutting board. “Go there later and get some stuff too. You’re starting to smell.”

“I am not,” Andrew protested. “Those are the onions. I’m making a stew.”

“Whatever,” Jonathan muttered. He took his new clothes to the closet next to the bathroom where a compact but hardy washer and dryer set was housed. He dumped all his new clothes in there, poured in a small amount of detergent (not something Andrew had bought but must have been Cordy’s; Jonathan felt guilty using it), and set the cycle. He went back to his bednest that he never bothered to pick up in the mornings. There just didn’t seem to be any point when nobody but himself and Andrew needed to use the couch, and they were perfectly happy to sit on the floor. Andrew kept saying it was like a campout, which Jonathan said was stupid, as Andrew had never been camping in his life. Nor had Jonathan, but that was beside the point.

He picked up the remote from the coffee table and began flipping through channels.

“Hey, the ghost was watching that,” Andrew whined mildly, dumping his onions and carrots into a large skillet.

Jonathan stared at him. “Ghost? What the hell are you talking about?”

“The ghost who haunts this apartment, duh,” Andrew said. “I told it that it could choose the channel, and that’s what it wanted. Turn it back.”

Jonathan swallowed uneasily. He hadn’t put a word to the unusual things that happened around the apartment, mostly because he refused to acknowledge them in the light of day. At night, when the television would switch on to save him from a vicious nightmare or he would shiver and an extra blanket would be delivered to him, he found himself whispering his thanks to the apartment, but come dawn he found ways to excuse these things as coincidence or freak accident.

“There’s not a ghost haunting the apartment, idiot,” Jonathan said to Andrew. Something unseen tugged on Jonathan’s pants as if to say “I’m right here. Now who’s being the idiot?” Just on the off chance, Jonathan changed the channel back to what it had been on previously. “Sorry,” he muttered, low enough that Andrew wouldn’t hear him. In response, the pillow next to his right hand suddenly fluffed itself, as if to say all had been forgiven. Ghost. Okay.

Jonathan tried to settle down and zone out on the ridiculous, old science fiction movie that was playing, but he could not calm his thoughts. Wesley knew there was a ghost in the apartment, and he had made it clear that finding Cordelia was not his top priority, but rather to find Angel. What if that was because he already knew that Cordelia was here...and not alive?

Jonathan shook his head. That was stupid - why would Cordelia be watching a really really bad science fiction movie from the ‘60s? And why would she be so nice and helpful with all the blankets and pillow fluffing? Wesley had said Cordelia had changed in three years, but into a whole other person?

He was so lost in his thoughts that the washer’s buzzer made him jump about a foot in the air. He became aware that the stew Andrew was cooking smelled amazing and that he was really hungry. He poked his head in the kitchen on the way to swapping his clothes into the dryer. “How long is that going to take?”

“A couple hours,” Andrew replied, not looking up from whatever he was doing to some chunk of meat.

Jonathan made a face. Making food and feeding himself on a timely basis was never one of his strong suits; he was seriously considering just eating Cheezits for lunch. In the meantime, he needed dry clothes.

After putting his clothes in the dryer, however, he did not go immediately back into the kitchen to get some food. His eyes landed on the door to the second bedroom. He could not shake the feeling that the ghost was Cordelia, and maybe something in the room could confirm that to be true. Glancing behind him to make sure Andrew couldn’t see him, he carefully eased the door open and slipped inside.

He had not been in here since the day Wesley came to raid Cordelia’s stuff. Apparently, Wesley had been kind enough to at least box everything back up and make the room neat again. Jonathan shifted things around until he located the box that held the senior yearbook. Sitting down against the wall, knees drawn up, he balanced the book in his lap and opened it. On the inside cover were so many well-wishes and fond farewells from people Jonathan had known for so many years. Some of them were dead now. Many of them had also signed Jonathan’s yearbook. On the whole, Cordelia’s signatures were more personalized than Jonathan’s, but not necessarily nicer. There were a lot of catty comments disguised as warm regards.

He flipped to the senior photos. There was Cordelia with her radiant smile and confident attitude. He wondered what she would say to him right now if she were there.

Nothing. Because if she were here, Jonathan and Andrew wouldn’t be. But if she walked in right now, safe and her usual self? He wondered if she would even remember who he was.

He started to turn the page, but a gentle breeze pushed it back. Jonathan shivered. Maybe he was imagining things, or maybe the ghost had followed him in there. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in ghosts - he just had never been up close and personal with one before. He didn’t know what to do with one who seemed so...nice.

“Please tell me you’re not Cordelia,” he said quietly.

The book flew out of his hands so hard and so fast that Jonathan barely registered its disappearance before it hit the opposite wall with a loud thump and fell to the floor. But the ghost wasn’t done proving its point. A breeze ruffled Jonathan’s hair and the contents of a myriad of half-opened boxes. Jonathan covered his face in case something came flying at him. “I’m sorry,” he cried. “I wasn’t trying to be insulting - I just had to make sure.”

Slowly the breeze died down and the stuff in the room settled. The book, however, remained inert at the base of the opposite wall. When Jonathan reached for it, it was scooted pointedly out of his reach again.

“Alright, alright,” Jonathan muttered. “I already said I was sorry. I’m just going to put it away now.”

The next time he reached for it, it stayed put. He picked it up, made sure none of the pages had been bent, and put it back where he had found it. He wiggled into a small spaced between two stacks of boxes and sat with his back against the wall, feeling protected for the first time in weeks. Here in this room, surrounded by a missing classmate’s stuff and in the presence of an unknown ghost...he felt safe. He pressed himself as far back as he could go and closed his eyes. Leave it to him to think such a crazy place held any sort of safety.

Sleep was a fickle thing for him these days. He could usually fall asleep without any problems, but every night so far this week he had been woken either by a nightmare or from a nightmare by his invisible protector. As he sat squished between the boxes, he rested his head against the wall and remembered Sunnydale. He remembered high school. He remembered how the Scoobies had singled him out on multiple occasions for suspected terrorizing of students. The swim team, and then that time they thought he was going to shoot up the school. His fists clenched on his knees. Back then, he would never have done anything to hurt anyone. Look at him now.

He remembered Cordelia. He thought about how she had been shunned and ostracised by her friends for dating Xander Harris. How Harmony had pointed to Jonathan as her next boyfriend, the moment of sad solidarity they had shared. Before that, when Cordy still reigned as queen, she had protected Jonathan on occasion, albeit in a backhanded way, usually with some reference to his height. _What are you picking on Jonathan for?_ she would ask the bullies. _He’s so small he’s too easy a target. What kind of man has to beat up someone half their size to feel better about themselves? It’s like bullying a six-year-old_. At which point the bullies would then go harass someone else, usually Xander or Jesse or one of the other bigger kids who were still considered losers. Jonathan never thanked her, nor would she want him to. She wasn’t even doing it for him, he figured, but out of a perverse pleasure at watching the boys jump to her command.

He opened his eyes, suddenly amused. It seemed like a great cosmic joke that he was sitting in Cordelia Chase’s apartment with her ghost roommate, watching her television and using her dryer and baking with her kitchen supplies.

“We grew up together, you know. Went to school together all our lives. Actually, we went on a date once,” he said out loud. He didn’t know why, but this story he had to tell verbally, for the ghost’s benefit or his own - he wasn’t sure which. “Cordelia and me. Can you believe that?”  
A pencil lying on top of a box floated up into the air and stood vertically, then moved from side to side - like a person shaking their head no, Jonathan assumed.

“Yeah, I couldn’t either when she asked me,” he said. “Well, it wasn’t really a date, and I knew that. I knew it would not amount to anything. But there was still this incredible feeling of pride that Cordelia Chase wanted to go to the Bronze with me - be seen at the Bronze with me. The Bronze is - well, maybe she’s told you about it, but it’s the only under-21 nightclub back home. You had to show ID to get in because you were supposed to be 16 at least, but as long as you had a high school ID, the bouncers didn’t care.

“I dressed up in a suit and everything,” he said. “I was just so excited to be seen with her. I wanted to show her…. I don’t know. That I was better than the average high school slob, I guess. I mean, all she really wanted from me was someone to buy her coffee and a muffin, but it still seemed like she trusted me somehow. More than the other boys in our school.”

The pencil floated in the air but made no movement, like the ghost was waiting for more. Jonathan shrugged.

“She could be nice when she wanted to be. You know how she used to be in high school?”

This time the pencil laid down horizontally in midair and moved up and down to indicate yes. Jonathan also nodded. “But I guess she’s changed. At least, that’s what Wesley says.”

He grew quiet for a long minute. The ghost...Wesley seemed to know about it. So presumably the ghost knew Wesley. Jonathan pulled his legs up close to his body and cradled his hands in his lap. “Do...do you think he’s trustworthy?” he asked the room. “Wesley, I mean.”

The pencil hesitated, then slowly, as if to indicate uncertainty, moved up and down in an affirmative response. The ghost trusted Wesley, but with reservations. Jonathan felt a little bit better; that was the same feeling he got. Of course, the ghost could have bad judgement of character. He wanted to ask what the ghost thought of himself and Andrew as people, but was a little afraid of the response. Because the fact that the ghost hadn’t made their lives a waking nightmare - had in fact been protecting at least Jonathan from actual nightmares - indicated that it trusted them. And he didn’t want to face that trust. It wasn’t like the ghost knew the whole story; if it did, it would hate them. Maybe the same held true for Wesley.

The ghost put the pencil down on the floor, and from the box where Jonathan had stored the yearbook, there was a rustling. A moment later, the yearbook floated up into the air and the ghost began flipping through pages, looking for something specific. It found the page and brought the book over to Jonathan. It was strange to take an object from someone he could not see, and the book was slightly cold to the touch and gave a small electric spark when he held it. He pulled the book into his lap and looked over the page.

It was a picture of himself perched on a low wall, silhouetted perfectly by the sun as he gazed out into the distance. He hadn’t known his picture was being taken at the time, but the photographer had been so excited by the shot that she wanted to include it in the yearbook. He was flattered and pleased - this was just after he had gotten back from being suspended. All sorts of rumours had been floating around about him at the time, and people treated him a lot differently, but he was no more popular than he had been before. He remembered thinking the girl only took his picture out of pity, but that was before he had seen how gorgeous the shot was.

He ended up asking her out to prom, and she accepted. It was one of the best nights of his life.

His fingers ghosted over his own shadow-dark face. He didn’t know what the ghost was trying to communicate, but it gave him a jolt to see this picture again. He closed the book and set it aside.

But the ghost wasn’t done. Next it brought over a VHS tape. Jonathan frowned. The label just said “Doyle” in what he assumed was Cordelia’s handwriting. He turned the tape over, but there was no indication of why the ghost would be bringing this to him. “I don’t understand,” he said.

In response, the bedroom door opened. Jonathan leaped to his feet, but it wasn’t Andrew who had opened it - the ghost must have done so. It was telling Jonathan to get out of the room - and watch the tape?

He took it out into the living room, where Andrew had temporarily stepped away from his stew and was watching the movie he had left on earlier. “What’s that?” Andrew asked, spying the VHS in Jonathan’s hands.

“I don’t know yet,” Jonathan said. He popped it into the VHS player built into the television and switched the channel to the right one.

On the screen was a man not much older than Jonathan. He was wiry and fidgety and seemed to be reading off something just beyond the camera. _"If you need help. Then look no further. Angel Investigations is the best! - Our rats are low."_

 _“Rates!”_ interjected Cordelia’s voice. Jonathan startled to hear it again after so many years.

_“It says ‘rats,’” the man protested. He continued, albeit hesitantly and with horrible acting skills, “Our rates are low, but our standards are high. When the chips are down, and you're at the end of your rope you need someone that you can count on. And that's what you'll find here - someone that will go all the way, no matter what. So don't lose hope. Come on over to our offices and you'll see that there's still heroes in this world.”_

_There was a pause, then the man looked away from the camera, presumably at Cordelia behind it. “Is that it? Am I done?”_

Andrew looked at Jonathan. “Did you find that in Cordelia’s stuff? We’re not supposed to be snooping in her things.”

“Yeah,” Jonathan said, distracted. “I mean, no. I was in there but I didn’t….the ghost gave it to me.”

It sounded fake when said out loud, but Andrew did not question it further. He frowned. “The ghost never gave me anything.”

Jonathan rolled his eyes. “It’s not a gift, dumbass.” He lowered his voice, though there was hardly any point; it’s not like ghosts had actual ears with eardrums. If it wanted to hear him, it would. “I think it’s trying to tell me something, but I don’t know what.”

Cordelia had clearly written the script for the commercial. So, what? She was interested in making money off the helpless? Or she still believed in heroes. Jonathan played the commercial over again in his head.

Don’t lose hope, the man - Doyle? - had said. _A little late for that_ , Jonathan thought. But that wasn’t true. Jonathan still had some hope left; he wouldn’t be here right now if he didn’t. Hope for what, though?

Home. One day he would really like to be able to go home and see his family again. It wasn’t completely out of the question. His and Andrew’s lives were no longer in danger, so they could return to Sunnydale, do their time in prison, and stop living on the run. But first they could try to find Cordelia, get her safely home. An act of compassion, of redemption. Like any of hundreds of comic book characters who once were bad people but now sought penance, except Jonathan was no superhero. He was just someone who had made some terrible mistakes.

Something light and battered pressed into Jonathan’s hand. The ghost had brought him one last thing: a well-worn photograph of just Angel, Wesley, and Cordelia. Cordelia looked more like the person Jonathan recognised from high school: long hair, confident grin, sparkling eyes. Wesley and Angel were both smiling, genuinely happy.

“We have to save Cordelia,” Jonathan said. “That’s what the ghost is trying to tell us: we have to find her and bring her home. It -”

Before he could say another word, before Andrew had time to react to what he was proposing, the ghost snatched the photograph out of his hand and folded it over so just Wesley’s face showed. It pressed the picture back into Jonathan’s hand, the side with Wesley face-up and staring at Jonathan.

“Right,” he said slowly. “We are going to help Wesley find Cordelia? But didn’t you hear him? He’s looking for Angel because he thinks Angel will be the key to finding her.”

The ghost snatched the photograph out of his hand again. Whatever the message it was trying to convey, Jonathan just wasn’t getting it. The ghost tried Andrew next, holding the picture of Wesley up in front of his face and waving it from side to side. Andrew looked at Jonathan, bewildered.

“I don’t know,” Jonathan said. He looked around, then remembered the pencil the ghost had been using to communicate. “Hold on a moment.” He dashed over to Cordelia’s desk, grabbed the first writing utensil he found (a purple sharpie) and brought it back to the couch. “Can you write it?” he asked the ghost.

It placed the picture face-down and spread open on the coffee table, uncapped the sharpie, and brought the tip to the photograph. The movements were jagged, staccato; some of the letters hard to read, and it took the ghost a long time to write two words. But it persevered until its message was complete.

SAVE HIM.

“Him” was underlined twice. That was the message they had been missing: the ghost wanted them to save...Wesley?

“Save Wesley?” Jonathan said out loud.

“He’s not the one who is missing, though,” Andrew said. “Shouldn’t we be saving Angel?”

Jonathan turned the photograph back over. Wesley in the picture looked so happy - nothing like the hardened and cynical man Jonathan and Andrew had been dealing with. “Just because he isn’t missing doesn’t mean he’s not in trouble,” Jonathan muttered. He remembered what Wesley had said about people who call themselves your family turning their backs on you. He looked up at where he thought the ghost may have been, though it was hard to tell. “I’m not sure I can do anything to help, but I guess I can try.”

Cool air blew across Jonathan’s forehead, ruffling his hair. He closed his eyes at the sensation; it was almost a pleasant feeling, like standing in an ocean breeze.

A loud buzzer jerked him out of his reverie. It was just the dryer letting him know his clothes were ready. He went to unload them while Andrew returned to his stew. The majority of his clothes he dumped into a cardboard box that had been mostly empty, the previous contents of which he transferred to another box. He set aside a t-shirt, pair of shorts, socks, and underwear; everything else went into the box, which he tossed gracelessly next to his nest.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he told Andrew. “And then I’m going to Wesley’s to talk to him. He mentioned he’s got a group of people who fight vampires. If he won’t let me help with his spells, maybe he’ll let me help with that. This will be my chance to make up for the bad stuff I did in Sunnydale.”

Andrew’s eyes widened. “Wait, you have to let me come too. Can you wait until the stew is finished?”

Jonathan hesitated. He didn’t want to drag Andrew into what promised to be a very dangerous situation. “Why do you want to come? It’s not going to be fun - and I don’t think Wesley is going to be very open-minded. He seems kinda stubborn.”

Andrew looked hurt. “I don’t want to go because I think it’ll be fun,” he said. “I want to go for the same reasons you do. I want to make things right, like you said. Make up for the bad stuff we did.” He swallowed. “Is it going to be dangerous?”

Jonathan nodded grimly. “Fighting vampires isn’t exactly easy. But we survived the Hellmouth, right? If I team up with Wesley’s fighters, I think I can learn enough tricks to be able to fight back.”

And if he couldn’t...well, it was what he had coming to him. At least he would go down fighting and trying to atone for his sins, rather than running like a frightened rabbit, hunted for a crime he did not commit.

“I can help too,” Andrew insisted. “I want to be helpful.”

Jonathan sighed. It wouldn’t hurt to let Andrew come along, he supposed. Andrew would see what he was really in for, maybe go in for one fight, and give up - as long as he didn’t get killed. And then Andrew could go back to doing what he had been all week: cooking and watching television and moderating a couple of online Star Trek forums. “Fine,” Jonathan said. “You can come with me. I’m going to shower and then we’ll get going.” On the way back, maybe they could stop by the Goodwill and pick Andrew up some new clothes too.

As Jonathan got into the shower, he felt more energized than he had all week. He had a plan - not a great plan, but something. Some way to be useful. And provided he didn’t get himself killed on his first attempt, maybe he could even do some good.

\---

The bus ride to Wesley’s was a little tedious, mostly because Jonathan could not remember his exact address. He remembered a couple of cross streets, but nothing definitive. He spent nearly an hour scouring maps while Andrew finished up his stew and chattered at Jonathan about something that Jonathan promptly forgot. At last, he was reasonably sure he knew where they were heading and what route to take, and Andrew had refrigerated the stew for later and made them a couple of sandwiches to go. Jonathan wolfed his down before they even made it to the sidewalk.

When they neared what Jonathan was reasonably sure was the right stop, things started looking familiar: the church nearby with the misspelled sign, the tacky restaurant in the shape of a castle. He felt better the closer they got and the more he recognized, but at the same time his stomach was doing nervous flips. He had no idea what he was going to say to Wesley. ‘The ghost in my apartment thinks you’re going off the deep end’ would probably get him kicked out or worse. ‘I want to atone for my sins’ would raise too many questions.

Then again, it might not. Wesley didn’t seem too keen on asking for details as long as he was getting what he wanted out of the deal.

Jonathan pulled the cord for the next stop and made his way to the back exit, Andrew right on his heels. As the driver pulled up to the curb and Jonathan stepped down to the sidewalk, he looked around to get his bearings. He remembered the park was right across the street from Wesley’s complex and...there it was. He nudged Andrew. “Come on.”

At Wesley’s front door Jonathan paused, gathering his courage. “Are you going to do it?” Andrew asked.

“Shut up,” Jonathan snapped. “Yes. Just…”

Before he could come up with a good excuse, Andrew knocked on the door and then ducked behind Jonathan, pushing him forward slightly. Part of Jonathan was furious, but most of him was just relieved to have the first step taken care of for him.

The pause between the knock and the door opening lasted so long that Jonathan started to think Wesley was not home. But then the door swung open to reveal Wesley looking scruffier than Jonathan had seen him yet, but decidedly more relaxed - almost sleepy. He was shirtless and barefoot, and his hair was a mess. His eyes widened when he saw Jonathan and Andrew. “Is she…” he asked breathlessly.

Oh shit, Jonathan hadn’t even thought about what Wesley might think seeing them on his doorstep. “Sorry,” he muttered. “No. We came to talk to you.”

Wesley’s expression hardened once more. “What do you want?”

Jonathan cleared his throat. “Can we come in?”

“Now’s not a good time,” Wesley said. He kept one hand on the door and the other on the frame, blocking the opening with his body as if he were afraid they might try to come in against his wishes.

“Actually,” a female voice interrupted from behind Wesley, “now is just fine. I was just heading out.”

A tall brunette with a smug expression and sneering eyes pushed past Wesley and out into the hallway. Her clothes were pristine, her makeup perfect, but there was something about her demeanour that made it clear exactly what she and Wesley had been up to. Jonathan felt his face turn bright red. He sneaked a glance at Andrew who either had the best poker face in the world (unlikely) or else had not figured out what they just interrupted.

She looked them over and raised her eyebrow at Wesley. “Interesting company you keep these days, Wes. Where did you find them - the local Nerdorama?”

Jonathan scowled at her and crossed his arms over his chest, drawing himself up as tall as he could. “No, he found us at a truck stop,” Andrew protested. “Where we were...fighting these gang...members. They wanted to steal all our money but we wouldn’t let them. We were kicking their asses. Wesley helped.” There was a gleam in his eye that Jonathan recognised with a jolt of horror - Andrew was just getting warmed up with one of his twisted half-truths. “He and Jonathan were former comrades in arms once in distant Sunnydale. They fought bravely side by side three years ago on a day of Certain Impending Doom and-”

“You don’t say,” the woman drawled. “Well, as fascinating as that sounds, I really should get going.” She smirked at Wesley. “See you later.”

“I highly doubt it,” Wesley sniffed, glaring at Andrew. In spite of his ire, he stepped back just enough for Andrew and Jonathan to squeeze past. “Inside.”

They did as they were told. There was something different about the apartment, but Jonathan could not quite put his finger on it. It wasn’t the obvious fact that Wesley had just been having sex in here; something smelled off. Dangerous.

“Talk.”

Jonathan swallowed. This was the moment he had been dreading. “W-we want to help you.” He cursed the way his voice squeaked as he said it.

“I already said I don’t need your help. I work alone,” Wesley said.

Jonathan shook his head. “I… I meant - not with finding Angel or Cordelia, but the vampire fighters you have. We want to help with that.”

Wesley raised his eyebrow and did not say anything. Jonathan looked at Andrew, who was putting on his best tough-guy face but didn’t seem inclined to jump in anytime soon. Jonathan huffed a quiet breath.

“I know we don’t look like fighters, but we spent our whole lives on the Hellmouth, which makes demons and vampires stronger. If we can survive that, we can learn to fight L.A. vampires, right? And - and Andrew’s right, we did fight together on Graduation Day and I seem to remember coming out better than you in that fight.”

“I have spent my whole life training to fight vampires and demons,” Wesley said, unperturbed by Jonathan’s slight jab. “I had a lot of theoretical knowledge to fall back on that has helped me survive as a demon hunter and as part of Angel Investigations. What do you have?”

“Magic,” Jonathan said firmly. “I can cast spells your people have probably never even heard of. And Andrew is a demon expert - maybe not as good as a Watcher, but still really smart. We can learn to fight, but even at first we wouldn’t be completely useless.”

Wesley considered them carefully. He didn’t outright reject them, which seemed to be a good sign. “Why?”

Jonathan took a deep breath. “We’ve done some stuff we’re not proud of. You saw some of it in the police report you erased. But that doesn’t even scratch the surface. I...I don’t want to be that person anymore. I want to make up for what I did.”

“Me too,” Andrew added hastily. “I wanna be like Blue Devil in Shadowpact, how he has to go on a redemption quest after he sold his soul which resulted in -”

“Shut up,” Jonathan hissed. Wesley, however, did not seem to be listening; he was lost in thought as he considered them.

“Can you cast a Pivoran Circle?” he asked Jonathan.

Jonathan couldn’t help but feel a little bit smug; protective and healing spells were a particular forte of his, not that he got to use them all that often with The Trio. Warren had always been more interested in spells that would hurt the Slayer or would give the three of them power. “Up to a thirty foot diameter,” he said proudly.

Wesley’s eyebrows twitched every so slightly. “How long can you hold it at that size?”

Jonathan looked down, feeling a little less sure of himself. “I didn’t really push for very long. I just wanted to see how big I could make it.”

“What about a Lijur Incantation?” Wesley asked.

Jonathan’s face clouded over. “No,” he said. “I’m not...I don’t want to do any more bad stuff. If a Lijur Incantation backfired, everybody except me would die. I don’t want to take that risk.” He was losing the only advantage he had, but… he could not bear to have any more deaths on his hands.

Wesley’s thoughts on the matter did not show on his face as he looked at Andrew next. “Can you tell the difference between a Piyar demon and a Vuln?”

Andrew rolled his eyes. “Of course. A Vuln has three spikes on its chin. Piyars have four, and smell like sulfur.”

Wesley nodded. They had passed his tests, but he clearly still had some reservations. “We can prove ourselves,” Jonathan said. “Give us one shot. If we survive and come out pretty okay, you’ll let us continue. If we get injured, then we won’t push anymore.” And if we die, the point will be moot anyway, he thought.

Wesley disappeared into his kitchen without saying another word. Jonathan and Andrew looked at each other, but neither of them knew if this was a good sign. Jonathan poked his head into the kitchen and saw Wesley reach for a bottle of something liquor-y looking but then he paused and reached for his electric kettle instead. He filled it with water and turned it on. Jonathan ducked back out before he could turn around and demand to know what Jonathan was doing.

“Tonight at 7 PM,” Wesley said, emerging from the kitchen. “You will go with my team to raid a vampire nest. It’s a small coven, no more than eight vampires total. Should you prove able to handle yourselves, we will discuss further arrangements tomorrow.” He wrote down some information: an address and a name. He gave the paper to Jonathan.

“Won’t you be there?” Jonathan asked, frowning at the name. It was one thing to prove himself to Wesley but something else entirely to have to convince a stranger…

“I have business elsewhere tonight,” Wesley said. Maybe it was Jonathan’s imagination but his eyes seemed to flicker to his bedroom door as he said it. Jonathan flushed, remembering the brunette who had left the apartment.

“Oh. Okay.” He slipped the card into his back pocket just as the electric kettle clicked off, ready to be poured. 

Wesley walked past Jonathan and into the kitchen. “Don’t be late,” he advised over his shoulder. “They’ll go without you.”

Andrew looked at Jonathan, who shrugged. He was fairly sure that was a dismissal. “We’ll be there,” he assured Wesley, heading for the door. “See you later.”

Wesley did not answer, but he watched them leave with a calculating look in his eye.


	5. Chapter 5

“ _ Ut coven tuam secura tibi libertate servire facias, te rogamus, audi nos!  Ut inimicos sanctae circulae humiliare digneris _ \- Andrew, duck!”  

“Huh?” Andrew spun around to look at Jonathan, just as a vampire pounced on him.  Andrew’s crossbow went skittering across the ground, far out of his reach.  Without thinking, Jonathan conjured up a flame on the tips of his fingers and shot it at the vampire before it could sink its fangs into Andrew’s neck.  The vampire burst into flames, causing Andrew to yell out and scramble away as the vampire fought in vain to extinguish himself.

“I said duck,” Jonathan yelled at Andrew, who glared up at him.

“You nearly set me on fire,” Andrew accused in return.

“Jonathan, the spell!” Jones shouted.

Jonathan bit back the rejoinder that was on the tip of his tongue and turned his attention back to the spell he was supposed to be working; it would prevent any more vampires from entering the building so they would not be ambushed.  While he had been distracted by Andrew’s moment of peril, it was impossible to say how many had managed to get inside.  He cursed his lapse in concentration; it was his job to protect his teammates and he could not let them down.

When they arrived at the designated meeting spot fifteen minutes early, Wesley had already been there waiting for his team.  He said nothing to them but as soon as Jones, Brownstreet, Hawkins, and Diana arrived he launched directly into briefing mode.  He handed out weapons to his team as he explained exactly what was about to go down: this nest was home to up to twenty vampires but right now only five were inside.  Eight more were in the near vicinity, the rest were far enough away they would not be a problem.  But it was Jonathan’s job to make sure the eight nearby would be kept out until they could deal with the first five, and then they’d take on the rest, if they happened to show up.

He had said all this without first introducing Jonathan and Andrew, so the group exchanged confused looks as they tried to figure out which one was supposed to be the sorcerer until Wesley handed the ingredient bag to Jonathan.  For Andrew he had a crossbow.  “Aim for the heart and try to stay out of hand-to-hand combat range,” had been his only advice.  He left quickly, on his own private mission, without asking if anyone had any questions.

They had been able to take the vampires by surprise, bursting in before they even knew there were humans on their territory.  They took out three immediately, but the next two put up a fight.  One more was able to get in before Jonathan’s spell took effect.  Andrew managed to shoot the fourth; the only reason his bolt was on target was due to the fact that the vampire was at point-blank range.  Wesley’s advice to stay out of close-quarters combat range was good in theory, less so in practice.  Vampires, it turned out, were not content to be shot at from behind a large crate, especially when most of the bolts didn’t even hit them.

Andrew had taken it upon himself to stand guard over Jonathan while he chanted his spell, out of the line of fire, but that plan quickly evaporated once Andrew was officially in the melee.  In spite of being hidden out of sight, Jonathan felt exposed.

“ _ Cernunnos ipse truderit virtutem plebi Suae. Aradia ipse fortitudinem plebi Suae _ ,” Jonathan continued, drawing a sigil onto the ground in front of him.  Diana and Jones managed to trap and stake another vampire between them; on the other side of the room Andrew lodged another bolt into a second vamp’s throat, holding him back long enough that Hawkins was able to decapitate it with his axe.

The combatants on the ground spun around, looking for any more assailants, but it appeared they had cleared them out.  Jones pushed aside the crate Jonathan was hiding behind.  “Any more at the perimeter?”

Jonathan broke the incantation just long enough to utter a quick couple of words, and four stones by his feet lit up.  He held up four fingers to Jones, switching immediately back to the banishment incantation.

“Let them in,” Jones said.  “We can handle this.  Wes give you a weapon?”

Jonathan shook his head.  He was meant to keep out of sight and keep a magical eye on the perimeter.

“Stay out of the fight, then,” Jones advised.

“And if you get in trouble use that neat trick with the fire,” Diana added.

“O-okay,” Jonathan said, dropping the incantation at Jones’ nod.  He erased the rune he had written earlier and, without anyone telling him to, began to draw another intricate sigil.

The new vampires poured into the building, yelling for blood and vengeance for their fallen comrades.  Wesley’s crew were tough, but taking on four vampires at once after having just put down six of them was no easy task, especially for regular humans.  They were starting to wear down, and the vampires were getting in one or two licks of their own.  Jones went flying across the room and a vampire nearly bit Hawkins before Andrew ran up and stabbed it with a crossbow bolt.  Jonathan’s heart jumped into his throat as he watched Andrew throwing himself into the heat of battle.  He wanted to join in, but he had no weapon and his sigil was only half done -

“ _ Adolebit exanimis lamia suburere eos rigidas, _ ” Jonathan muttered hastily, drawing fast.  It wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do.  “ _ Et sic repente praecipitas me virtus solis ungerent lamia _ !”

With a final flourish, Jonathan slapped his hand into the middle of the sigil.  At once all four vampires caught fire from their centers - right where their unbeating hearts were - and went up in flames.  Jonathan’s teammates yelled out as they threw themselves away from the burning, screaming vampires; Brownstreet’s sleeve caught on fire but he quickly tore his shirt off and stomped out the flames.

When the vampires were all dust, the team looked at Jonathan, varying degrees of awe and disbelief in their eyes.

“Why didn’t we just do that from the beginning?” Diana asked wryly.

Jonathan blushed.  “I, uh...wasn’t sure it was going to work.  I sort of improvised on a different spell.”

“I would have preferred a little warning next time,” Brownstreet groused, examining the tatters of his shirt before tossing it aside.  “Not to mention you could have set the whole building on fire.”

“But he didn’t,” Diana pointed out.  “He took care of them faster than we could have.  And it’s a good trick to have on hand next time we flush out a nest.”

Jonathan busied himself with scrubbing out the sigil so that no one else could use it or would even know it was there in the first place.  Truthfully, he hadn’t considered the possibility of the building being set on fire; he just wanted to know if the spell would work as he had intended, if at all.  He had figured on a no harm, no foul situation.  The idea of his teammates getting hurt hadn’t even crossed his mind.

“Yeah, leave him alone,” Andrew added loudly.  “He saved all our a-asses.”

Jonathan rolled his eyes where no one could see him.  Andrew meant well but how seriously would these guys take him when he couldn’t even swear without stuttering?

“I’m not saying it was a bad idea, just a little heads up would have been nice,” Brownstreet retorted.

“We should get out of here,” Jones said, cutting off any further arguments.  “We made a helluva lot of noise - police are gonna show up sooner or later.”

Jonathan wasn’t sure the police gave any sort of shit about neighbourhoods like this, but he and the others took the hint.  He gathered up the supplies he had been using and stuff them in the little carry bag Wesley had given him.

“You guys need a ride?” Diana asked as they shuffled out of the building.  I gotta swing by the office to do the paperwork and write the report.  You guys around that way?”

“1522 Elisabeth St,” Jonathan rattled off.  He still wasn’t used to saying that was his address.  Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to get used to it.  “I don’t know if that’s anywhere near your offices…”

“Close enough,” Diana said, gesturing them to follow her to her car.  He didn’t think to ask how she knew they didn’t have a car of their own.

\---

“-So then I rush forward and the vam _ pyre _ and I lock eyes - we’re in a showdown to the death and we both know it.  He reaches for me but I dodge and with a valiant war cry I plunge my bolt straight into his heart, dusting him before he even knows what is happening!”

Jonathan closed his eyes, trying to block out Andrew’s enthusiastic retelling of the battle for the ghost’s entertainment.  The ghost doesn’t care, he wanted to yell.  But in actuality, that did not appear to be true.  Every time Andrew paused in his story because he got distracted by something, the ghost would rattle something insistently.  It would only stop when the story resumed.  Logically speaking, Jonathan was glad Andrew had an audience, albeit an invisible one.

But in reality, he just really wished Andrew would stop saying “vampire” so weirdly.

“But there are more vam _ pyres _ closing in and we can’t keep this up much longer.  One of them has a hold of Brownstreet and is going in for the kill - the others are seriously pumped on a fresh kill from the streets.  I haven’t given up hope yet, but Diana and Hawkins are both waning, unable to keep up.  Then, suddenly - like a miracle - the vampires all just  _ FWOOSH burst into flames! _ ”

Jonathan couldn’t handle it anymore.  He got up from his nest and walked down the hallway to the bedroom.  He kicked off his grimy shoes, shed all of his clothes except his boxers, and climbed onto the side of the bed Andrew hadn’t claimed for himself.  He crawled under the covers, pulling them up over his head.  It felt so good to be on a real bed again that he almost moaned with happiness, never mind his previous vow not to sleep in Cordelia’s bed.  His body was so tired he almost forgot it belonged to her.

In spite of the comfort, he could not fall asleep.  His mind was buzzing, replaying the details of the fight over and over.  In his head, it did not sound like the same glorious battle Andrew was telling to the ghost.  In his head, he just heard Brownstreet remonstrating him for nearly setting the whole building on fire.  What good was killing vampires if you slaughtered your teammates and yourself along with them?

Jonathan turned over onto his back and encountered a cold spot in the middle of the bed.  He reached into the cold spot, wondering if it was just because the bed had been empty all day.  But no, if he reached far enough the bed was just as warm as on Jonathan’s side.  There was only about a foot of cold air in the middle.

“Is that you?” he asked the spot, withdrawing his arm and cradling it against his body to get it warm again.

Something unseen but not entirely unwelcome brushed against Jonathan’s face.  He smiled despite his melancholy thoughts.  “Does Andrew know you left?  I hope you at least let him finish.  There wasn’t much left after I nearly got everyone killed.”

The next puff of air was much harsher - like a sudden gust rather than a gentle breeze.  Jonathan closed his eyes against the assault, bewildered.

“Sorry,” he muttered.  He wasn’t sure what he was apologising for, exactly, but the ghost seemed appeased.  “Anyway, you shouldn’t take him too seriously.  He tends to exaggerate.  They’d have killed the vampires without my help.”

The blankets fluttered in what Jonathan imagined to be a supernatural shrug.  He stretched out once more beneath the heavy covers, and this time was asleep within minutes.

\---

Jonathan’s dreams that night were filled with roaring fires and helpless screams, but most of the time he could not tell if it was the humans or the vampires screaming.  Sometimes it was the vampires he was supposed to be saving but he set them on fire anyway.  They must never have quite reached nightmare status - or at least it never showed on his face - because there was no timely awakening from the ghost.

Nevertheless, when he woke up he felt well-rested.  Glancing at the bedside clock, he realised why: it was well past eleven in the morning.  Magic always took a toll on him, especially sustained incantations, like the one he had performed last night.  He knew that as soon as he moved, his body would let him know exactly what it thought of his heroics.

He became aware of a very corporeal presence on the other side of the bed.  Apparently Andrew, upon finding Jonathan asleep in the bed, had not done the logical thing and taken over Jonathan’s nest, but instead had put a pillow in the middle - a demarcation line - and taken over the other half.  Part of Jonathan wanted to be annoyed at Andrew’s presumption, but he understood the desire not to be alone after such a scary night.  Andrew may have talked big and enthusiastically, but Jonathan knew a decent portion of all that talk was just bravado.

Jonathan rolled softly out of the bed, moving carefully to not disturb Andrew and also to give his abused muscles a slow start.  Magic wasn’t simply about saying a few words and watching things happen.  It was about channelling and controlling power - sometimes vast amounts of it.  The human body, while resilient, was still only mortal.  It would probably take half the day for Jonathan to be able to move normally.

He stumbled out into the hallway and detoured into the bathroom to pee before making his way into the kitchen to put on some coffee.

It wasn’t until the coffee was nearly finished percolating that he realised he had company.

Wesley was sitting at the dining room table, a sheaf of papers in his hands.  He barely glanced up when Jonathan let out a surprised yelp.  “Diana told me what you did.”

Jonathan wasn’t sure how to respond. Wesley’s voice betrayed no emotion, so it was impossible to tell if he was angry or impressed.  Instead, he tried to deflect the subject and pointed at the papers Wesley held instead.  “What are those?”

“Information,” Wesley said crisply.  When Jonathan moved around the table to take a look at them, he slapped the file closed.  “Not for your eyes.”

“Is it stuff about Angel?” Jonathan persisted.

Wesley hesitated then relented, opening the file for Jonathan to see.  Most of it didn’t make sense to him.  “This is what I have gathered so far on Cordelia’s disappearance.  It leads to Dinza, a dark demi-goddess of the lost.  Fitting, isn’t it?  Only the dead can enter her presence.”

Jonathan’s head snapped up.  “Cordelia isn’t -”

Wesley shook his head.  He stood up and went into the kitchen to make himself some coffee as if this was his place.  “I don’t think she is dead,” he called from the kitchen.  “But nor do I think she is in our plane of existence.”

An invisible hand sent the file skittering to the floor - the ghost was clearly not happy with this theory.  Jonathan’s heart skipped a beat.  “What do you mean?”

Wesley came back and calmly gathered his papers once more.  “Throwing a temper tantrum won’t bring her back any faster,” he admonished thin air.  To Jonathan he said, “Cordelia is not exactly who she used to be in high school.  Through an unanticipated incident, she became a recipient of visions from the Powers That Be.  They were killing her; no human is meant to be able to contain that much power within themself.  In order to keep the visions without dying, she agreed to be given demonic powers.”

There was a beat, a microsecond of a pause, and then Jonathan burst into laughter.

Wesley stared at him coldly.  “What is so funny?”

Jonathan collapsed into a chair and put his coffee down.  “Cordelia Chase is a demon who has a direct connection to the Powers That Be.  She may no longer be on Earth at all but in some distant demonic realm.  Meanwhile I’m housesitting her friendly ghost roommate and on the run from the law.  You can’t tell me this is where you saw your life going three years ago.”

Wesley stared at him for a moment longer and then - a miracle - smiled.  It was a genuine, if a little sad, smile that brought to mind the photograph the ghost had shown Jonathan.  “No.  No, you’re quite right about that.”  He huffed a small laugh.  “But that’s not what I came to talk about.  I only brought the information on Cordelia to see if ‘her friendly ghost roommate’ would have any insight.”

“No luck?” Jonathan asked.

Wesley shook his head.  “I’m afraid not.”  He raised his eyebrows.  “But I hear you were quite the star last night.”

Jonathan blushed, unsure what to say.  “I should have seen the risks before putting everyone in danger.  I nearly killed Brownstreet.”

Wesley scoffed.  “Some singed arm hair hardly constitutes nearly being killed.  You thought fast on your feet and took a chance that paid off.  Not all of your risks will work so well in the future, but the fact that you took the chance at all is impressive.  I half expected you and Andrew to both run away when the fighting got tough.  But Diana said that Andrew also ended up taking down two of the vampires.”

Jonathan nodded.  “He did a good job.”

“You both did,” Wesley said.  He sounded kinder than he had at any other point since rescuing them from the truck stop over a week ago.  “If you’re still interested, I’d like to bring you in on more missions where having a mage on hand will be useful.”

“Yeah,” Jonathan said immediately.  “I want to.  I think Andrew does too, but I’ll run it by him first and make sure.”

“Excellent,” Wesley said, standing up.  He drained the last of his coffee, the angry scar on his neck jumping as he swallowed.  “I have to take off.  I will be in contact soon with another assignment.”  He took the coffee mug back into the kitchen and loaded into the dishwasher before grabbing his file and heading out the door.

“See ya,” Jonathan called after him.  In spite of everything he had just learned, he felt relaxed.  He brought his own coffee to the living room nest and burrowed into the blankets before turning the television on.  He picked up the sharpie from the day before and tossed it into the air.  The ghost caught it at the apex of its ascent and it hovered there, awaiting instructions.  Jonathan grinned for a moment, but then his expression dropped.

“Is Cordelia really a demon now?” he asked.

The sharpie moved up and down in the affirmative.

“Is...is she… you know, not on Earth any more?”  He didn’t know a better way to say it.

The sharpie moved viciously from side to side in a negative response.

Jonathan nodded.  “I hope you’re right.”  He stretched out and nearly gasped in pain when his back muscles protested the movement.  “Oh  _ god _ ,” he hissed.

The sharpie dropped and a few seconds later there was a rustling in the kitchen.  The ghost returned a minute later, carrying an ice pack wrapped in a towel.  This it handed to Jonathan, who took it with gratitude.  But the ghost wasn’t done.  A few minutes later something else hovered into Jonathan’s peripheral vision: a heating pad, already plugged in but not turned on.  For after the ice, the ghost seemed to be indicating.

“Wow, thanks,” Jonathan mumbled shyly.  He wasn’t sure what to do with such attentive kindness.  He fingered the icepack apprehensively.  If he wasn’t careful, he could become used to all this.


	6. Chapter 6

It was remarkably easy to fall into this new life.  Living in a nice apartment - even when he was sleeping on the floor of the living room - waking up some days to breakfast in bed (or at the very least coffee), spending their days watching television or playing games, spending a good percentage of their nights on the streets fighting evil or doing research for Wesley’s team.  They began to grow more adventurous, exploring the neighbourhood and surrounding areas.  They found a local comic book shop and, with a little money from some coding work they took on, went on a small shopping spree.  Soon the empty spaces in Cordelia’s apartment that made the place feel so sterile were slightly less empty with nerdy little knickknacks.

Jonathan read more in those days than he had for a very long time before.  He caught up not only on his comic book series that he had been neglecting recently, but also picked up novels and science fiction series he’d been meaning to get around to for years.  He filled out a library card application under Wesley’s name and checked out the maximum number of titles.  He scoured the local branch’s small Wicca section but it did not hold much - though he was able to request a couple of titles from the interlibrary loan system.  He also picked up several nonfiction books: astronomy, physics, coding, and psychology.  A small sampling, some more difficult than others based on his level of prior knowledge in any given field, but enough to keep him entertained and learning new things.

Andrew threw himself into his two passions: the internet and cooking.  Oftentimes they would overlap: Andrew would buy a bunch of discount ingredients at the supermarket and then spend hours on cooking websites figuring out how to combine them into something palatable.  He seemed to take the mornings when the ghost cooked as something of a personal insult - although he never seemed to mind coming home from a mission to find a casserole or tacos or lasagna waiting for them.  One time they came home to a cherry pie cooling on the counter, which Andrew eyed enviously and muttered “Showoff” but enjoyed nonetheless.

The ghost… Jonathan was never quite sure what to make of it.  He liked it, and it seemed to like them, but there was a long period of adjustment for Jonathan as he came to terms with the fact he was never really alone.  For the most part, it seemed to respect their privacy when necessary - such as in the bathroom - but sometimes Jonathan would forget about it and would do something like adjust himself or scratch himself somewhere he wouldn’t normally in public.  He felt embarrassed when he caught himself doing those things, but the ghost never seemed to make a big deal out of it.

Jonathan would not have thought it possible to become friends with someone he couldn’t see, but there was something altogether guileless about the invisible presence.  Jonathan found himself talking out loud to the ghost, even when it did not (or could not) reply.  He talked about benign stuff: what he was reading, the cat he had met on his last trip to the library, a really good science fiction movie he barely remembered from his childhood and wanted to try to find again.

Sometimes the talk about innocent stuff gradually turned to more serious stuff.  He still avoided the worst of it: Katrina, Tara, the heists, but he talked about other things: his suicide attempt, the constant bullying, how Warren treated both him and Andrew.  The fact that he still didn’t entirely trust Andrew.  The unyielding feeling that nothing he did now would make up for what he had done in the past.

The ghost rarely talked back, which sometimes Jonathan was grateful for but sometimes he wished it could give him advice.  The most it could do was acknowledge his words - which sometimes was all Jonathan wanted.  But it highlighted the fact that he didn’t know anything about the ghost: its name, gender, when or how it died.  He wanted to ask, but it felt intrusive to do so, like he would be breaking an important taboo.  The ghost, for its part, found creative ways to communicate (it especially seemed to like the up-down, side-side movement of a pencil or their favourite sharpie meant to simulate a nodding or shaking head, but there were also rattled cups and fluffed blankets that could hold a variety of meanings).  Yet in spite of the prominence of writing utensils, it rarely wrote anything down - probably because of how difficult the precision movements required for writing appeared to be.

“It’s a girl ghost,” Andrew declared once, apropos of nothing.  Jonathan glanced up from the spell he was attempting to master just for fun: a way to double the capacity of their hot water heater without jacking up their electric bill.  Not that they paid for it - it was included in the rent - but this way they could use as much hot water as they needed without forcing the landlord to pay for their indulgence.

“How can you tell?”  He didn’t think Andrew was wrong, per se, but he also had never been able to come up with a logical conclusion about the ghost’s gender on his own so he was curious what made Andrew so certain.

“She’s always giving you stuff and doing stuff for you and follows you all over the apartment - she definitely has a huge crush on you,” Andrew said, climbing up onto the cushionless couch and reading some of Jonathan’s book over his shoulder.

Jonathan blushed.  “The ghost doesn’t have a crush on me,” he muttered.  Andrew sounded a little jealous - Jonathan hoped it was jealousy over the fact that the ghost didn’t pay him as much attention, not anything to do with Jonathan.  “It’s just being helpful.  It doesn’t do that stuff for you because you’re too annoying and you talk about it like it’s not even here.”  He looked around the ceiling.  “Andrew’s an idiot, don’t listen to him.”

A couple of superhero figurines on the mantle clattered in what Jonathan determined to be laughter.  He grinned in that direction; the ghost seemed to especially enjoy their amicable banter, so Jonathan liked to perpetuate it whenever possible.  Okay, so maybe he was showing off a little, though who he was trying to impress or to what purpose, he couldn’t have said.

“I know I’m right,” Andrew said.  He pulled himself away from the couch and disappeared into the kitchen, where he had popped in from to harass Jonathan.

Jonathan smirked up at thin air.  “So, do you have a giant crush on me?” he teased.  His heart jumped slightly as he said it: the idea of anyone ever having a crush on him was ridiculous.  He was proven right when the ever-present sharpie flung itself softly at Jonathan’s head.  He laughed and retrieved the marker from where it had fallen in his lap.  Although he sounded lighthearted, he hoped that Andrew’s misunderstanding wouldn’t cause the ghost to become self-conscious or anything.  He could barely admit it to himself, but he really enjoyed the ghost’s attention - even if he felt he did not deserve it.

He tried to return the favour as much as possible.  He deferred to the ghost’s taste in music and movies: usually older science fiction and spaghetti westerns for movies, musical soundtracks and a zippy kind of jazz for music.  Jonathan came to learn that when the ghost was feeling melancholy it would play the movie soundtrack to “Evita” on a continuous loop, especially “Don’t Cry for Me, Argentina.”  There seemed to be some sort of meaning behind it that he could never really discern, but it usually happened after Wesley would visit with no new news about Cordelia.  The day he declared he could pursue her no further, the ghost slammed doors and rattled windows until Wesley left, his face twisted with anguish; the tantrum died but not before the ghost snatched up the Evita CD and flung it against the nearest wall.

“He’s still trying to find Angel,” Jonathan reminded the ghost, scared and helpless in his new friend’s unhappiness.  “Angel can then figure out what happened to Cordelia.  We’re going to bring her home.”

He had no idea when he had begun including himself in the mission to find Cordelia, and he didn’t know what he would do when they did and she came to reclaim her apartment, but his words seemed to reassure the ghost.  It trusted Angel.

Jonathan did other things for the ghost when possible.  He would bring home books from the library or the comic book store that he thought it would like.  It seemed particularly fond of Captain America.  For books, it tended to devour pretty much anything; Jonathan could bring home the trashiest or most boring-looking books and the ghost would still read them voraciously.  He supposed there wasn’t much else it could do to keep itself occupied.  He discovered that when the ghost really liked a book, it would tap Jonathan on the shoulder repeatedly with the book until it had Jonathan’s undivided attention.  Jonathan was never sure if he was supposed to read the book himself or if the ghost just wanted more like that one, so he did both.  A book that earned the ghost’s disapproval, however, more often than not ended up buried under a couch cushion or tossed unceremoniously next to the trash.

But by far the best discovery was the day Jonathan found out the ghost knew Morse Code.

It was an accidental discovery, but a good one nonetheless.  He had been reading through a book about disguising spells - not for any practical purposes, though some of the knowledge he filed away for future reference - and was idly tapping a pen against the coffee table.  He was lounging in his usual spot in his nest, book laid out before him on the table and a mug of tea by his unoccupied hand.  He twirled his pen absentmindedly a couple of times around his finger and then resumed the tapping.  Muscle memory returned from years ago when he had been infatuated with both World Wars and had taught himself Morse Code.  Now, without even realising, he began tapping out the signal for S.O.S.

He felt the presence beside him before he even registered the cold spot by his elbow.  “Hey,” he greeted the ghost distractedly.  He kept up the tapping until the ghost carefully extracted the pen from between his fingers.

“Oops,” he said, chagrined.  He set aside his book.  “Was that annoying?  Sorry.”

The ghost wiggled the pen in a brief “no” before carefully tapping several long and short notes against the table.

Jonathan’s eyes widened.  He scrambled for his notebook, then realised he didn’t have anything to write with anymore.  “Hold on,” he said breathlessly, diving for a pen he knew had rolled under the couch a week ago that he had never bothered to fish out.  Now he grabbed it like a lifeline and straightened back up, prepared.  “Okay, do that again?”

The ghost made the same taps on the table, which Jonathan diligently copied down.  He was definitely out of practice, and it took him a moment and a couple of false starts to discover what the ghost was trying to say: U-K-N-O-W.  The question mark at the end was implied in the way the pen hovered uncertainly by Jonathan’s hand.

Jonathan nodded vigorously.  “Yes,” he exclaimed.  “Yes, I know Morse Code.”  How had it taken them this long to figure out?  Jonathan and Andrew had been living in the apartment for a few weeks by now, and it had never crossed his mind.

Y-A-Y.  The pen laid down on the table; apparently the ghost didn’t have anything further to say for the moment.  But it was good to know the ghost could communicate if necessary.  Jonathan wondered if Andrew knew Morse Code; Jonathan wouldn’t always be around to interpret in an emergency.  What sort of emergency a ghost could have, he wasn’t sure, but it never hurt to be prepared.  He made a note to brush up on his own Morse Code skills while he was at it.

Jonathan returned his attention to his book, but before he had read two words, he got a sudden jolt.  “Oh, duh,” he muttered to himself.  Out loud, he said, “What’s your name?”

The pen flew back into the air and then tapped against the table.  Once more, Jonathan had to write out the taps in order to interpret them into letters: D-E-N-N-I-S.

Jonathan grinned.  “I knew Andrew was wrong about you being a girl!”

The pen dropped to the table and Jonathan knew without checking that the ghost had retreated to another part of the house.  He wasn’t sure what caused the abrupt departure, but he would be more than willing to shove this newfound fact into Andrew’s face when he got home from the comic book store.

Days melted into routine melted into weeks.  Either Fred or Gunn (never both at the same time) stopped by diligently once a week to collect rent, but neither stayed for very long.  They kept their conversation limited to pleasant small talk about how the boys found the neighbourhood.  Jonathan never let on that he knew the apartment’s previous occupant.

Monotony.  Routine.  Almost - dare he think it? - domestic.  He felt like everything else in his past had been child’s play.  The Trio stuff in particular, amateur and ridiculous.  Now he was playing in the big leagues with only himself to watch his back.  He felt a little lost, but more often he felt a strange sense of pride.  He had been thrown into the deep end of the pool and he was treading water and keeping his head up.  He wasn’t drowning.  In some ways, he was actually thriving - or at the very least he wasn’t having his head repeatedly shoved under by a bunch of overgrown dunderheads who -

That metaphor may have gotten a little out of hand.

The point was, Jonathan was on his own with little to no support and he had made some questionable decisions to get to this point, but he was succeeding.  And for that, he couldn’t help but feel proud of himself.

\---

_ Dennis is fascinated.  It’s hardly a new emotion; a lot of things have fascinated him ever since Cordelia freed him from his afterlife prison.  Computers, fashion, politics,  _ Will & Grace _ \- it is all so new and astounding and delightful.  Even people: Angel and Wesley and Gunn and Fred and Lorne and Connor…..they, too, fascinate him.  Growing up a rather sheltered life in the 1920s and ‘30s, he had no idea about Los Angeles’ more...colourful residents.  Vampires, demons, wizards, and, well, he hates to be poignant about it, but his mother would have killed him if he tried to befriend a coloured man.  In life, he never came remotely close to touching this crazy world Cordelia opened up to him. _

_ So why is he most fascinated of all by this quite ordinary man who entered his afterlife entirely by accident? _

_ The simple answer is that in this harrowing and uncertain time with Cordelia and Angel missing and Dennis being utterly helpless, Jonathan is a connection to Cordelia’s past.  Dennis misses her so much it’s like an ache in his very soul, but being able to share this small connection with Jonathan makes the ache a little bit easier to bear.  He does his best to tell Jonathan all about the person Cordelia has become, the mature, courageous, ambitious version of the person Jonathan reminisces about.  He thinks the messages are interpreted correctly for the most part. _

_ But it’s not just Cordelia who keeps him returning to Jonathan’s side again and again; she’s not the reason he listens to Jonathan’s stories about Sunnydale High and UCSD and his home life.  She’s not the reason he wakes Jonathan up every single night from one nightmare or another.  There is something about Jonathan that is just out of reach, that he wants to touch but is afraid to because he doesn’t know what may lay hidden there.  There is a pointedness to what he does not talk about, and Dennis is caught between an intense curiosity and a deep-seated sense of trepidation. _

_ But in the meantime, he will take everything that he is given. _

_ Andrew, too, is fascinating but he is much more upfront about himself.  He doesn’t cultivate the same air of mystery that Jonathan does.  Dennis enjoys listening to Andrew recount their adventures with Wesley’s team.  When Dennis suggested they save Wesley from himself, he hadn’t quite anticipated them joining Wesley’s new militaristic band of fighters, and the first few times they go on missions, Dennis feels extreme guilt.  But they come home tired but safe, and he gets to hear all about the epic battles.  And Wesley seems less and less hardened every time he drops by.  If Dennis had lungs, he would be breathing a lot easier. _

_ Andrew doesn’t talk about his past as much.  He seems to be more focused on the present, on what is happening in his life or in his favourite comic books.  When he really gets going on some memory, however, it can sometimes be hard to tell truth from exaggeration.  Dennis enjoys the challenge of it, but he much prefers to listen to Jonathan’s straight-forward rendition. _

_ “I don’t know how long it took me to figure out,” Jonathan says one time.  He is sitting in his usual spot between two stacks of boxes in the spare bedroom.  He wanders in here sometimes when he just wants to ramble about nothing - whether or not Dennis is present.  He always is.  “Most people knew right away, but I don’t think I figured it out until midmorning.  I had a roommate at the time but we never said good morning to each other.  Or much of anything, really.  We were just paired together and we didn’t drive each other crazy so we kept living together even though we had nothing in common.  But anyway - yeah I don’t think I noticed anything until I went to my first class and realised it had been cancelled.” _

_ Dennis watches as Jonathan scratches idly at his own throat, as if reliving the sensation.  Dennis touches the spot too, sees Jonathan shiver at the coldness of his being.  Jonathan’s eyes slide shut briefly, then pop back open. _

_ He has startlingly bright eyes. _

_ “I saw people in the hallways like they were in mourning, but I just figured someone had died.  Perk of living on the Hellmouth I guess - you stop seeing death as something tragic and more just commonplace.  I didn’t have any friends in college - I mean I didn’t have any friends in high school either but college felt somehow more isolated - so whoever the death was, I thought it couldn’t be someone I knew.  How messed up is that?  I thought someone was dead and didn’t care because it couldn’t be anyone close to me. _

_ “I went to the cafeteria and got coffee and a doughnut as usual.  Nothing strange.  I didn’t even really notice how quiet the cafeteria was.  When I got to my first class, that’s when I figured it out.  I finally tried to say something out loud, and nothing happened.  No one could speak.  We were a whole school of people unable to communicate.  A whole town.”  He looks up sheepishly.  “I guess that doesn’t sound so difficult to you.” _

_ Dennis nods his sharpie up and down, commiserating.  He wouldn’t wish his predicament on anyone.  He knows how terrifying it is to be unable to communicate properly with the world around you. _

_ "I guess I just didn't talk that much back then. I still don't, if you can believe it." There is a wry smile on his lips. In spite of the irony of the moment, Dennis definitely can believe it; Jonathan is quiet and thoughtful the vast majority of the time. But he speaks up when he needs to, Dennis has noticed. He lacks Cordelia's bravado or Wesley's quiet assurance, but there is something reminiscent of Fred's timid strength in the way Jonathan stands up to the pushy forces that surround him. _

_ "I never did find out what caused it to happen. Probably a demon of some kind. Whatever it was, I bet Buffy took care of it." There is a combined note of admiration and trepidation in his voice that is always there when he talks about the Slayer Buffy Summers. Dennis finds himself intrigued by this woman who inspires such awe in Jonathan but such exasperation in Cordelia. He wishes he could meet her somehow. She is a recurring theme in many of Jonathan's stories, the same way she used to be in Cordelia's when Cordy was still new to the city and only knew her old high school circles. "Like the time there was this demon who made us all sing." He makes a face. "That was an awful day. And really really weird." _

_ Dennis takes up his pen and taps carefully in Morse Code: L-I-K-E L-O-R-N-E. He hovers the pen in what they have determined to indicate a question. _

_ Jonathan writes the message down carefully (he no longer needs to write down the taps, interpreting them directly into letters) but then frowns at the words, perplexed. "I don't know. I doubt it? Does Lorne make people sing?" _

_ N-O-T M-A-K-E. He thumps the pen on the ground to indicate a stop. S-U-G-G-E-S-T-S. Another thump. _

_ Jonathan shakes his head. "No, this demon definitely made us sing. Andrew was able to figure out who he is - a demon named Sweet - but that's as far as we got." _

_ Before Jonathan can say any else however, Dennis perceives a knock on the front door. From the way Jonathan's expression changes, he heard it too. As a ghost, Dennis does not truly see or hear things, as a human does; it's a sort of resonance in the world around him, but he has become an expert at differentiating different sounds and objects. His ability to perceive more than the physical world makes it easier to see the shift in Jonathan's expression. It's subtle; a regular human probably wouldn't see it. The way his expression closes off, his eyes become wary. The tiny hint of a smile disappears and he frowns ever so slightly in anticipation of some half-expected blow (either verbal or physical). He stands up. _

_ "Talk to you later," he mutters to Dennis, then goes to answer the door. It's Fred, here to collect the weekly rent. Jonathan smiles at her, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes the way it does when he is alone with Dennis or even when he is watching Andrew cooking or joking around. It defies all expectations, but there is a hardness, a wall inside of Jonathan that feels impenetrable. _

_ Yet somehow Dennis has seen inside and he is fascinated. _


	7. Chapter 7

Jonathan knocked hesitantly on Wesley’s door.  He wasn’t sure if Wesley might be asleep (although it was three in the afternoon, Wesley sometimes kept odd hours) or otherwise occupied like the last time Jonathan had come to see him unexpectedly.  But when the door opened nearly a minute later, Wesley looked like his normal self, if a bit wary.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.  He did not stand aside to let Jonathan in but nor did he entirely block the entryway.

Jonathan held up the small, ancient book he carried.  “I found something that I thought might help you with locating Angel.”

Wesley peered at the book, then reached out to take it.  Jonathan handed it over willingly.  “ _ Carver’s Journal of Vampyric Activity _ ,” Wesley read off the cover.  “How imaginative.  He didn’t have much to say.”  The book was only about 150 pages or so.

Jonathan rubbed his eyes.  “He wrote really small.  I stumbled across it in a thrift shop a couple weeks ago and bought it just because it looked cool.  Gave me a massive headache to read and I almost gave up because Carver doesn’t seem to know what he’s talking about most of the time.  But on page 86 he mentioned a sort of tracking spell specifically tailored for looking for vampires.  I know you said your locator spell only got you so far, but this might be able to get you even further?”

Wesley stepped aside and gestured for Jonathan to come into the apartment.  “I’ll look into it.  Though if, as you say, Carver doesn’t know what he’s talking about then I’m afraid this might also become a dead end.  Tea?”

“Sure,” Jonathan said.  Jonathan had never drunk so much tea in his life as he did since coming to L.A. - Wesley and Dennis both tended to make a lot.  His shy bladder did not appreciate it.  He sat down at Wesley’s little dining table.  “I mean, it’s better than nothing, right?”

“Indeed,” Wesley agreed.  “I will look it over this evening before heading out again.”

“You’re not coming on the mission tonight?” Jonathan asked.  Recently, more and more often Wesley would hand out assignments and then disappear on his hunt for Angel.  Jonathan realised suddenly that it had been over two weeks since Wesley had fought along with the group.

Wesley brought Jonathan a mug of hot tea.  “No, tonight should be fairly straightforward.  A basilisk.”

Jonathan stared at him.  “An honest-to-god basilisk?” he demanded.  “This is what you consider to be ‘straightforward’?  I thought they were just a myth anyway.”

“Don’t look it in the eye and you’ll be fine,” Wesley said as if it was no big deal.  Jonathan scoffed.  “Technically, you are correct: what most people would know and consider to be a basilisk is a fictional creature.  But for all intents and purposes, the demon you will be facing tonight resembles the legends, namely the deadly stare.”

“Great,” Jonathan muttered.  “I’ll bring a pair of sunglasses.”

Wesley ignored his comment.  “We know where the lair is and you can use a Tranqego spell on the surrounding areas to keep it from breaking out.  But this creature has killed five people since it came to L.A. - do not underestimate it.”

Jonathan rubbed his eyes again.  He hadn’t slept well the night before and he really did have a headache from reading Carver’s journal.  He probably wouldn’t have time for a nap before facing down a demon that could literally kill him with a look.  “Is it a giant snake like in Harry Potter?  I’m not a fan of giant snakes, you know.”

“It is snake-like in appearance,” Wesley said, ignoring the subtle reference to Graduation Day.  “But it has legs.  Sort of like a wingless dragon.  The claws are almost as deadly as the gaze itself.”

“Oh good,” Jonathan said.  “So while you’ve got your eyes closed to avoid looking it in the eye, it’ll just tear you to shreds with its claws.  Tonight is going to be fun.”

Wesley smiled wryly.  “Well, as long as you have such an upbeat attitude about it.”

Jonathan sighed.  He knew once the fight started he would be full of adrenaline and other hormones, but right now he just feel weary and overwhelmed.  “Mind if I use your bathroom?”

Wesley nodded, picking up the little journal and beginning to flip through it.  He did not turn immediately to the page Jonathan had mentioned earlier.  “It’s through the bedroom.”

“I remember, thanks,” Jonathan said, but Wesley was no longer listening.

Jonathan pushed open the door to Wesley’s bedroom and walked through to the bathroom.  There was a faintly unpleasant smell, as if Wesley hadn’t cleaned his toilet in a while, but Jonathan ignored it.  The poor guy had been wearing himself down trying to juggle too many things at once, and besides - if it weren’t for Dennis’ help Jonathan and Andrew would hardly be the tidiest housekeepers in the world.

In the bathroom, he ran the cold tap and splashed some water onto his face.  That felt better.  He wondered if Wesley would mind him taking a couple of ibuprofen too while he was at it.  He would ask when he went back out.  He shut off the tap, peed, then turned it back on to wash his hands.  He splashed some more cold water onto his face, already feeling a lot better.  He dried off his hands and face and went back out into the bedroom.

He realised suddenly that the strange smell was actually stronger in the bedroom than in the bathroom.  That didn’t make any sense.  He paused, wrinkling his nose slightly.  That’s when he became aware of a strange scritching sound behind the door that Jonathan remembered had been all barred up when they stayed there over a month ago.

Jonathan knew he should pretend he hadn’t heard or smelled anything.  He knew he should not snoop through his friend’s stuff.  But he had to know.  If Wesley was keeping some sort of demon locked up or something, it must be for a good reason.

Right?

He glanced at the door to the main room and - satisfied that he probably wouldn’t be missed for another couple of minutes - tiptoed over to the closet.  He eased open the door carefully, ready to slam it back shut should whatever was hidden in there (if there was even anything, he reminded himself; his overactive imagination was probably just playing tricks on him) lunge at him.

When enough light finally illuminated the closet so that Jonathan could see the interior, he almost threw up on the spot.

The good news was she didn’t lunge.

He still slammed the door shut anyway.

“No,” he heard someone moan and it took him a moment to realise it was actually himself.  “No no no no no no no…”

He was frozen.  Couldn’t move.  He just saw the same image over and over again in his head: the woman, crouched on the floor, gagged and bound, staring up at him with malevolence and disgust.

He swallowed down the nausea that build up in his throat.  The smell….the sight.  He had to get out of there, had to….had to -

“Jonathan?”

He couldn’t turn around, couldn’t move.  He realised his hand was still clutching the closet doorknob, knuckles white with the force of his grip.  He jerked back as if the metal suddenly burned.

“Whatever you think is going on, I can assure you that you are wrong.  You don’t know the full story.”

He didn’t need the full story.  He needed to get away before something bad happened.  “Monster,” he whispered hoarsely, and the word sounded so close to “Master” that the bile came back up his throat with a vengeance.

“Jonathan.”  There was no emotion in his voice, no remorse or fear or anger.  Nothing.  Dennis was wrong - this man was beyond saving.  “Listen to me.”

“Fuck you,” he spat, whirling around and shoving his way past Wesley; he expected some resistance, but Wesley merely stepped aside and watched as he slammed into the living room.

“She tried to kill me,” Wesley said, heedless of whether or not Jonathan was even listening.  “Slit my throat - I know you’ve seen the scar.  I don’t try to hide it.  She did that to me, and took away something from me that was more precious than anything else on Earth.  And I know she knows where Angel is - so until she tells me, this is a more generous fate than what she deserves.”

“Nobody deserves to be locked up like a slave,” Jonathan spat, only half listening.  “You’re using her to find Angel?  Do you think Angel would approve of that?  Do you think  _ Cordelia  _ would?”

Wesley’s face hardened and Jonathan became genuinely afraid he had overstepped a boundary and would find himself the proud new occupant of the girl’s cage.  “I am doing what is necessary.”

Jonathan moved tentatively towards the door, but Wesley made no move to stop him.  “You are still needed tonight,” Wesley said calmly.  “Lives depend on you being there to do the Tranqego spell.”

Jonathan turned his back on Wesley’s horrifying callousness and stormed out of the apartment.

\---

He didn’t know where to go.  He couldn’t go back to Cordelia’s apartment - a place he had started to think of as home - and face Andrew and Dennis.  He was shaking with rage and fear.  He thought he might still vomit.  The look of utter hatred on the poor woman’s face as she stared up at Jonathan….

He stopped abruptly as a wave of dizziness swept over him, whiting out his vision.  He stumbled blindly to the nearest building and leaned against it for support.

What was this going to do to Andrew?  To find out that they’d been working for another Warren all this time?  Jonathan pressed his hands to his face.

“You okay, man?” someone asked.  Jonathan took a deep, shuddering breath and waved them away.

They would have to move on again.  Pack up their stuff (now well more than one single backpack’s worth of supplies and gadgets) and continue on with their original plan.  Make up some excuse to Fred and Gunn - or maybe even come clean about everything.  They should know what their old friend was up to.

Jonathan could call the police, leave an anonymous tip.  Would they be able to get a warrant on that alone?  Would Wesley somehow find out about it and move the woman before they got to him?  The first night Wesley had run into them, he had seemed like he knew a thing or two about the local police force; did he have some sort of connection to them?

Maybe calling the police wasn’t such a good idea.  Maybe it would be better to just sneak out in the middle of the night and pretend they had never been there, never seen or done the things they did while in L.A.  But not until later tonight, after the mission.  Jonathan hated Wesley for manipulating him, but he was also right: lives depended on Jonathan to be there to do his part.  Jonathan would not be responsible for any more lives being taken.  Ever.  Not to mention just sneaking away would do nothing to help the woman.  He felt a pang of guilt at the idea of just leaving her there.

Staying for the mission would mean going back to the apartment.  He stepped away from the building supporting him, took two steps down the street, and faltered.  He couldn’t do it.  He couldn’t go back there.  But he could call Andrew and have him meet Jonathan somewhere...anywhere that wasn’t the apartment or close to Wesley’s place.

Jonathan walked until he found a payphone, taking random turns until he found what he was looking for.  By this time, he was not precisely lost but at least turned around enough that he would have a difficult time getting where he needed to go without any guidance.  He dug a quarter out of his pocket and dialed the number he now knew by heart.

Andrew answered on the third ring.  “Hello?”

“Andrew, it’s Jonathan.  Listen to me and don’t argue,” Jonathan said quickly.  “Get all of our stuff together in whatever is easy to transport - if that means borrowing a suitcase or something from Cordelia, then just do it.  We’ll find a way to pay her back.  Don’t bring anything we can live without, okay?  Just pack it all up and leave it by the front door.  Then meet me at...um…”  He wracked his brain for somewhere more or less in between Cordelia’s and Wesley’s places.  “Vees Cafe.  I think it’s on Adams.”  They had passed it a couple times before and Andrew always commented that it looked good but they never had a chance to go in.

“O-okay,” Andrew said, clearly bewildered and worried.

“Bring with you the stuff I’ll need for a Tranqego spell.  I think everything should be in my mage kit, do you know where I keep that?”

“Yeah,” Andrew said.  “Behind the stack of Anne Rice books on the bookcase?  Don’t you think it’s kinda ironic that Cordelia would read those books when she is friends with a -”

“Just bring it, okay?” Jonathan snapped.

“Fine,” Andrew said.  Jonathan could tell by the tone of his voice that he was pouting.  “Why do I have to pack up all our stuff?”

“I’ll explain at the cafe.  Don’t argue with me, okay?  Please?”  Jonathan gripped the phone receiver hard, waiting for the response.  He never said ‘please’ to Andrew - usually they would get into a ‘do it because I said so, dumbass’/‘make me’ routine.  He hoped this would impress upon him just how serious the situation was.

“Okay,” Andrew relented.  

“Vees Cafe,” Jonathan repeated.  “As soon as you can.”  He hung up.

It would take Andrew a while to pack up their stuff.  Jonathan suddenly realised with a gut-twisting jolt that Dennis would probably be confused and upset.  Well, that was fine.  He was just a ghost; he would get over it.  Jonathan didn’t owe him any explanations.

Jonathan pulled out the phone book from under the booth and flipped through the pages to find the cafe’s exact address.  He decided to walk there; it would take over an hour, but he needed to keep moving.  He was pretty sure he would go crazy sitting on a bus.

The whole time, he kept imagining the woman’s face as she glared at him.  He had no idea what her name was or if the police were looking for her.  Surely someone must have reported her missing?  And what about the brunette they had seen leaving Wesley’s apartment when they first went to talk to him about the fighters group?  Did she know what dark secret her lover was hiding?

The closet had been empty when Andrew and Jonathan stayed there so many weeks ago, but the bars were already in place.  He had been planning this whole thing for a while.

Jonathan’s gut twisted again.

By the time he got to the cafe, he was sweating in the hot Los Angeles evening.  Andrew hadn’t arrived yet, so Jonathan took a place at a table in the back, letting the air conditioning work its magic.  He ordered a mint tea to try to soothe his jumbled stomach and a large glass of water.

Andrew showed up ten minutes later, the cloth bag with Jonathan’s supplies in hand.  “Order whatever you want,” Jonathan told him, which caused Andrew to bounce over to the cashier with glee.

When he came back, he had a double shot of espresso and a receipt for a panini.  Jonathan took a long drink of his mint tea.

“We’re leaving tonight after the mission,” he said without preamble.

Andrew paled.  “The police?  Willow?!  Did she track us down?”

Jonathan shook his head.  “It’s Wesley.  He can’t be trusted.”  Jonathan bit his lip; on the one hand, he wanted to protect Andrew from what he had found out, but on the other hand...Andrew needed to know.  In a low voice, Jonathan related what he had seen.

With each new piece of information, Andrew’s expression became more and more panic-stricken.  When the waitress brought over Andrew’s panini, Jonathan paused until she was gone, but Andrew did not pick up his sandwich.  He just stared at it, distraught.

“He told me I have to do this last mission or people might die,” Jonathan said finally.  He touched his mage kit, hating himself for what he had dragged them into on the word of a ghost.  “You don’t have to, though.  You can sit it out and we’ll leave as soon as I get home.”

“But...but there’s gotta be a reason why he’s doing it, right?” Andrew asked desperately.  “Did he say?  Did you ask?”

“Does it matter?” Jonathan demanded, too loudly.  He softened his voice once more.  “Does it matter she’s the one who slit his throat and he thinks she knows where Angel is?  Are you telling me someone deserves to be locked up in a closet like that, all bound and gagged and -” He could not finish that sentence.

“B-but if she does know where Angel and Cordelia are, then it’s for the best, right?  I mean, if she’s not cooperating because she’s evil… You have to be pretty evil to slit someone’s throat.  The needs of the many, Jonathan, remember?”

Jonathan’s hands clenched around his water glass.  “No.   _ No _ .  The ends are never justified by these kinds of means - you can rationalise it all you want, but what it comes down to is Wesley is enslaving a woman.  We… I can’t be part of that.  You can stay if you want to go down that route, but I’m leaving tonight.  Without you if it comes to that.”

“I’ll go,” Andrew said instantly.  “You...you wouldn’t survive without me.  Someone has to make sure you survive among the Mexicoans.”

Jonathan ignored the blustering and focused instead on the promise.  “Good.  Okay.  We’ll leave as soon as I get back from the mission.”

Andrew shook his head.  “I’m gonna go with you to do that too.  That way he’s not just blackmailing you.”  He looked down at his panini.  “Do you really think he was Lex Luthor this whole time when we thought he was Superman?  Or- or The Penguin instead of Batman?”

“Andrew…” Jonathan sighed; he couldn’t do this right now.

“What are we going to tell Dennis?” Andrew asked.  “He wasn’t happy when I packed up all our stuff.”

Jonathan’s stomach gave another uncomfortable twist.  “Nothing.  We’ll call the police from somewhere outside L.A.  If we do it now, he may have already taken her away, put her somewhere else for a while.  But I don’t think he’ll leave her away from her cage for long; eventually he’ll take her back there behind those bars.  We won’t tell Dennis or Fred or Gunn anything.”  He felt bad leaving them in the lurch but explaining everything would take too much time, and he wanted to be gone as quickly as possible.  Andrew’s face crumpled and he looked like he was on the verge of tears.

A new thought struck Jonathan: would Wesley send his fighters to track them down and kill them?

He didn’t think so - it would be a waste of resources and time.  But once upon a time he also thought Willow Rosenberg wouldn’t be able to kill a human, either.  Great.  So now they were on the run from the police, Willow, and possibly Wesley.  Unless by some miracle the police were able to arrest him.  Jonathan didn’t have that much faith; Wesley had proven himself to be intelligent, determined, and a good mage, if a bit inexperienced.  He could probably locate them within an hour if he put his mind to it.

Was there anywhere on Earth they were safe?  Anyone they wouldn’t ultimately piss off?

Every minute that they sat in that cafe while Andrew picked at his panini felt like a hundred needles jabbing Jonathan all over.  He wanted time to speed up so that they could get the basilisk mission over with and get the hell out of Dodge.  To keep himself distracted, he told Andrew what he knew about what would be their last hunt.

\---

_ A Tranqego spell is specifically designed to create a cold environment that will slow down any cold-blooded creatures - including demons. Like a reptilian basilisk. The ingredients are simple, though the incantation itself requires an immense amount of concentration and careful wielding of power. _

_ Jonathan felt the energies surround and encompass him. He directed them, but there was also the keen awareness that at any time he could be overwhelmed and killed. Or the power could escape him and wreak untold havoc on his immediate vicinity - endangering all those around him. Like the ocean, magic commanded respect and only respected those who gave it. All others would be slaughtered in painful, merciless devastation. _

_ Jonathan inhaled fire and exhaled ice. He shaped and cajoled, tested and charmed. He flirted with unseen powers, teasing them forth in a way he could never do with people. Weave and waver, timing perfect, tune just right. A single syllable off, an ingredient mismeasured, any variation could send the whole thing up in smoke - literally. Safe (but not) in his hideaway nook, Jonathan observed the battle without participating directly. _

_ "Aim for the eyes!" _

_ "Shit, it nearly got me." _

_ "Duck, Andrew!" _

_ Eyes snapping to attention but attention never faltering, Jonathan looked at Andrew just as he dodged out of harm's way, eyes covered with his arm. Relief, re-energize, revamp. Repeat as required. _

_ Duck dodge roll tuck slip slide and everything in between. He watched, eyes dancing from person to person but always returning to Andrew. He has gotten stronger in the last six weeks - they both have. Jonathan could perform spells he never dreamed of before. In the words he could lose himself; in the movements disappear. _

_ He feared being found. _

Found _. _

FOUND _. _

_ He tried to get out of the way, but his legs were stiff from non-movement. He just barely avoided the basilisk's gaze, but now he could not see its movements as it came barrelling towards him. He threw up his hands as a shield - some weak shield - and felt the claws draaaaaaaaaaag rip down and slice splay flay the skin open, flesh exposed and pain explode, searing and tearing and tearing up with a sharp cry just as the crossbow bolt lodged itself in the demon's eye. It reared away, screaming its agony to echo Jonathan's. _

"Oh my god, oh my god," Andrew cried, sliding to a stop by Jonathan's elbow, dropping his crossbow into the spreading pool of blood as he gathered Jonathan's shaking body close. A lucky stab took out the monster's other eye and now unencumbered by the deadly stare, Jones was able to dodge in and evade the flailing claws to decapitate it. "Oh my god."

"It's not so bad," Jonathan whispered. His arm was torn up from shoulder to elbow but the gashes were not as deep as he originally thought. Still, he would need stitches; his empty stomach roiled.

"Move over," Diana snapped, pushing Andrew out of the way. She ripped Jonathan's outer shirt off, leaving him in his now-tattered tee. She tore the button-down into uneven strips, tied a make-shift tourniquet, and hastily bandaged Jonathan's arm.

"We gotta get him to a hospital," Jones said. "Pick him up, let's go."

"No hospital," he gasped as Broadstreet lifted him up, jolting his arm. "Home." He didn't mean Cordelia's apartment. He wanted to go  _ home _ .

"I'll call the boss," Diana said, stepping away and fishing a mobile out of her front pocket.

"I am the boss when he's not here," Jones snapped. "He's going to the hospital. Call an ambulance. We'll tell them it was a dog attack."

Jonathan closed his eyes. He was starting to feel woozy, and Broadstreet's rough handling kept causing white explosions of pain. "No hospital."

He must have passed out at that point because the next thing he knew, he was riding in the back of an ambulance.

He moaned; his arm didn’t exactly feel better but rather just sort of loose and as if there was a layer of gauze over his pain receptors.

“He’s awake,” one of the EMTs said.  There was a muffled squeak nearby that could only be Andrew.  Jonathan wanted to let him know that he was okay, but speaking felt like effort.  “Looks like you got into one hell of a fight, kid.”

“”Uhn,” Jonathan agreed.  He relaxed and closed his eyes, though he didn’t quite pass out again.  He has been in a fight all along, he realised, and he was ready to quit.  No more.  Someone else could tag in because he was done.

The remaining ride to the hospital was short, and Jonathan barely noticed any of it.  He could hear Andrew giving the technicians a mixture of fake and real information.  No insurance - good thing they were about to be on the run again because or else they’d be looking at some seriously steep medical bills.

At the hospital, they wheeled Jonathan into a room where Andrew was not allowed to follow, and cleaned the wounds before preparing to stitch him up.  They gave him a local anesthetic, but he might as well have been put under; he only made it halfway through the process before he passed out again.  When he regained consciousness, he felt ashamed, but the doctor was untroubled.  Still, Jonathan felt silly - all the times he had witnessed a demon being slaughtered, yet he could not bear to see his own arm sewn up.

When they were finished, they took him into a room, hooked him up to a few machines, and by the time they left, Jonathan was already half asleep.  The next time he became aware of his surroundings, Andrew was sitting in a chair by his side.

“Myrgh,” Jonathan mumbled intelligently.

Andrew scrambled to his feet and launched himself at Jonathan, pulling him into a tight hug - thankfully avoiding the injured arm.  “You’re okay!”

“Yeah,” Jonathan said weakly.  “Yeah, I’ll be fine.  Are the others okay?”

Andrew pulled back but continued to sit on the edge of Jonathan’s bed.  “They’re fine.  I think they went home.  I got to ride with you in the ambulance.”  In spite the worry in his eyes, there is a sort of glee present also.  Riding in the ambulance must have seemed kinda cool in spite of the stress and worry.

“Guess we’re not leaving just yet,” Jonathan muttered.  He closed his eyes, exhausted.  He just wanted to be gone already, but now he had gone and fucked everything up, like he always does.  He considered himself lucky Wesley hadn’t already shown up to smother him with a pillow or something while he was unconscious.  “But as soon as they discharge me, we’re gone.  I can travel with an injured arm.”

“Okay,” Andrew agreed, but he looked worried.  “When will that be?”

Jonathan shrugged, then immediately regretted the movement.  He let out a choked sound of agony as pain seared up and down his arm.  “Shouldn’t be very long,” he said through a grimace.  “There’s no reason to keep me here.  You should go back to the apartment, though.  Get some sleep.  I’ll call you when they discharge me so you can get ready to go.”

Andrew shook his head vigorously.  “I don’t want to leave you.”

Jonathan wanted to argue further, but didn’t have the energy to do so.  “Whatever,” he said gruffly to cover up the fact that he was really grateful for Andrew’s presence.

The next few hours were a flurry of nurses and instructions on the proper care of his stitches.  They wanted to keep him through the rest of the night, just because of how much blood he had lost.  They gashes may have been shallower than Jonathan thought at first, but he had still lost a lot of blood.  He would need to keep the bandage covering the stitches on for 24 hours before removing it and cleaning with mild soap.  Jonathan listened to these instructions with a sleepy patience.  At last the nurse relented, telling him she would give him a printout of all the instructions when he left in the morning.  She left, pointedly ignoring Andrew asleep on a chair.  Technically, he wasn’t supposed to be there right now.

Jonathan dozed.  And dreamed.  For the first time in weeks he had no one to wake him up from his nightmares.  There was something evil stalking him from the shadows, something that wore Wesley’s face and spoke with Warren’s voice.  It was trying to tempt Jonathan into...something.  He didn’t know what.  He just knew he wanted to scream but couldn’t because Wesley/Warren had spelled his lips shut.

He woke up gasping for breath and aware of a new presence in the room.

Wesley.

Jonathan struggled upright in his bed, crying out as his damaged arm flared into fiery pain.  His cry woke up Andrew, who nearly fell out of his chair.  He leapt to his feet, caught sight of Wesley, hesitated, then launched himself at the taller man.  Taken off guard, Wesley stumbled back a few steps, but quickly regained his balance.  He pushed Andrew back, firmly but not roughly.  “I have to talk to Jonathan.”

“Not a chance,” Andrew snarled.

“Andrew,” Jonathan said warily.  “Let him go.”  Addressing Wesley directly.  “I don’t want to talk to you.  I never want to see you again.”

Andrew released his hold on Wesley reluctantly, but Wesley did not leave.  “I understand where you are coming from.”  His voice was calmed and measured, but there was a twist of something pained deep within it.  “That’s why I let her go.”

“I don’t believe you,” Jonathan said instantly.  Andrew’s gaze flitted back and forth between the two, hope warring with trepidation.

“Nor should you,” Wesley said mildly.  “I would not respect you if you believed me.  But I can promise I am telling the truth.  I give you my word.  I...realised I was behaving in a manner I would have once found reprehensible.  Truthfully, I found myself acting like someone I once vowed I would never emulate.” A look of sneering self-disgust crossed his face.  “I wish I could say I was blind to what I was doing, but I knew the whole time.  I just thought it didn’t matter anymore.”

“You thought it didn’t matter that you were holding a girl enslaved in your closet,” Jonathan repeated.

Wesley looked down.  He looked...ashamed.  “If you were anyone else, I would assume you don’t know what it feels like to lose all of your friends because of a mistake you made - a well-intentioned mistake, but a mistake nonetheless.  But where you are trying to make up for what you did in a productive manner, I have just been hurting and manipulating more people, including yourself.”

Jonathan looked away, uncomfortable.  He felt like Wesley was asking for an absolution that Jonathan could not give, was incapable of providing.  He wanted to believe Wesley was telling the truth.  He wanted things to go back to how they had been before the awful discovery, but there was no going back from this now.  “‘Manipulating’ is putting it pretty mildly,” he muttered.  “You blackmailed me tonight.”  The implication that his current predicament was all Wesley’s fault went unsaid but hung heavy in the air nonetheless.

Wesley raised his eyes to look directly at Jonathan.  “I did,” he acknowledged.

Jonathan glared at him.  “You’re not sorry,” he accused.

“I am sorry you got hurt,” Wesley said.  “I am not sorry you were there to protect my team.  Had I not had your skills as a mage at my disposal, I would never have sent them to take down a basilisk.”

“I’m flattered,” Jonathan said.

Wesley ignored the sarcasm.  “Can I count on your skills in the future?”

Jonathan closed his eyes.  He was so tired - and here was Wesley manipulating him again.  He wanted to say no so badly.  He wanted proof that the woman was really free.  They should get out of L.A. while they still could.  He opened his eyes and looked at Andrew, who was watching him with a wide-eyed expression.  Waiting for him to make the decision.  Andrew would follow wherever Jonathan led.  He wasn’t sure he was up to that level of responsibility; after all, look where his decisions had taken them so far.

“You don’t have to answer right away,” Wesley said after a moment.  Jonathan closed his eyes again, feeling groggy.  “Spend a couple of days at home and rest.  I’ll call in a few days and you can let me know then where we stand.”

There was a moment of silence where none of them spoke; to his right, Jonathan heard Andrew shift slightly.  Then there was the unmistakable sound of Wesley leaving the room.

“Are we still going to Mexico?” Andrew asked.

Jonathan opened his eyes reluctantly.  “I don’t know,” he said truthfully.  “I….what do you think?”

Andrew looked troubled.  “Do you really think he didn’t let her go?”

“I don’t  _ know _ ,” Jonathan repeated, his frustration getting the better of him.  “I’m really tired, Andrew, so unless you have something actually helpful to contribute I’m going back to sleep.”  He squirmed, trying to find a comfortable position that did not jostle his arm.

Andrew went back to his chair.  Now he looked troubled and hurt.  Jonathan sighed.  “Sorry,” he muttered.

“What’s going to happen to Dennis if Fred and Gunn can’t keep Cordelia’s apartment?” Andrew asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” Jonathan said, but there was no fire behind it this time.  His tiredness multiplied into full-blown exhaustion.  “He’s a ghost - he’ll survive.”

Andrew didn’t say anything more.  Eventually they both drifted off to sleep and more troubled dreams.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for alcohol over-consumption and depression

Come morning, Jonathan was feeling a bit better physically if not mentally. He was released after some minor poking and prodding, and given a printout on the proper care for his stitches. Andrew hovered nervously by his elbow until Jonathan nearly growled at him to back off. The concern was appreciated, but not when Jonathan practically stepped on his toes every time he took a step.

Faced with the prospect of riding a bus halfway across town with his arm in a sling and under the influence of painkillers, Jonathan elected to shell out some money to pay for a cab instead. He knew he might regret it in the long run, especially with the uncertainty of their futures hanging before them, but for now he was just too frustrated and tired to brave public transit.

Even the cab ride was uncomfortable and tense. Jonathan kept going over the conversation he still needed to have with Wesley: he would demand proof of the woman’s freedom. Even if Wesley could provide it - which Jonathan wasn't sure he could - things would not go back to the way they had been. Could not.

He was so busy thinking about the upcoming confrontation with Wesley that he forgot he would have a more immediate problem on his hand.

The minute Jonathan tried to unlock the front door, it swung open so hard it hit the wall with a bang.  Jonathan jumped, then closed his eyes as he remembered.  Dennis.

“Uh oh,” Andrew said, accurately summing up the situation.

Jonathan stepped into the front hallway carefully, unsure of what would happen.  There was an ominously heavy feeling in the room, like the air itself was vibrating.  Jonathan moved gingerly into the living room, shielding his hurt arm.  “Where’s our stuff?” he asked Andrew.  He had some herbs that Andrew should have packed which would help with healing.

Andrew pointed at the middle of Jonathan’s bednest, then frowned.  He went over to the nest and began throwing blankets and pillows around.  Nothing.  “I know I left it all right here,” he whined.  “I stuffed as much as I could into your backpack and then the rest into this flowery little duffle bag Cordelia had.”

The vibration in the air was steadily growing worse and a few things on the mantle began to rattle enough to make Jonathan uneasy.

“You’re sure you didn’t put it somewhere else?” Jonathan demanded.

“ _ Duh _ ,” Andrew said.  “I figured if we were really leaving, the last thing we should do was put the cushions back on the couch, but I didn’t want to do it yet in case we weren’t really going anywhere.” 

A stone fox fell forcefully off the mantle and crashed to the floor, making Jonathan startle again.  “Dennis,” he snapped, suddenly suspicious.  “Where’s our stuff?”

In response, there was a whoosh of air down the hall and the master bedroom door slammed shut.  It didn’t sound like a departure, however; more like an expression of rage and confusion.  As if to confirm Jonathan’s suspicions, there is a tug on his sling.

“It’s a long story,” he muttered.  “I don’t want to talk about it right now.  I just want my stuff so I can try to help it get better faster.”

There was a pause.  Jonathan didn’t know how he knew, but he could tell that Dennis was hesitating.

“Fine,” Jonathan said, his temper rising slightly.  He wasn’t feeling particularly kind towards Dennis already, and now this mulishness was just furthering his agitation.  “I’m going to go lie down.”

“What about our stuff?” Andrew had finally stopped tearing apart the nest and was now looking in random spots as if the bags would just magically appear.

“Dennis can keep it for all I care.”  Jonathan marched down the short hallway to the master bedroom and slammed the door shut behind him, echoing Dennis’ earlier display.

He shucked off his jeans and - with some difficulty - his tee-shirt until he was wearing just his boxers and socks.  He threw the covers back and climbed carefully onto the bed.  But he didn’t lie fully down.  For one thing, his arm was really starting to throb; for another, he’d been doing enough lying down for the last twelve hours.  He really just didn’t want to be the responsible one for a minute.  He didn’t want to deal with Dennis’ temper tantrum and Andrew’s….Andrewness.  Now that the sling was off, he peeled back some of the bandaging to peek at the stitches.  In a few hours he would need to take the bandages off and wash the stitches.  He was not looking forward to that.

The doctors had prescribed him some painkillers but he hadn’t gotten it filled yet.  He would ask Andrew to do that later - provided he had located their stuff by then.

Jonathan wished that Cordelia kept a television in her bedroom, but she didn’t.  He turned on her radio instead.  He wanted distraction, but he was too keyed up to try to read.

After twenty minutes of bored anxiety, there was a tap on the bedroom door.  Before Jonathan could yell at Andrew to go away, the door opened of its own volition and a backpack and duffle bag floated into the room.  They landed on the bed next to Jonathan, who reflexively drew the comforter over his lap.  Dennis’ special pen floated over to the bedside table and tapped out “S-O-R-R-Y.”  He laid down the pen.

Jonathan ignored the apology.  Instead, he busied himself digging around in the backpack, eventually just dumping everything out on the bed so he could find what he was looking for.  Not there.  He did the same with the duffle bag.

As he was rooting around, looking for the blend of herbs meant specifically for healing, he caught the distinct sound of the bathroom medicine cabinet opening and closing.  A moment later, a tube of ointment floated into his line of sight.  He looked up.  The container was unmarked, but when he opened the cap, he caught a whiff of feverfew, lavender, and… basil?  He’d heard it was good for cuts, but he’d never been able to test that theory - mostly because Andrew refused to see it as anything other than a cooking ingredient.  There were also a few more magical ingredients in there.  It wasn’t a large tube.

“I don’t want to use that all up,” Jonathan said.  “It doesn’t belong to me.”

A firm pressure pushed Jonathan’s fingers into closing gently around the tube.  The cold touch sent shivers racing up Jonathan’s arm and along his spine.  “Fine,” he relented.  “But when Cordelia comes home and yells at me, I’m blaming you.”

It almost felt like their usual banter, but there was a hollowness to Jonathan’s words.  He set the container aside.  “I can’t put it on yet.  I’m supposed to wait a few more hours before I wash it.  I was just trying to find this tea blend I have that is good for pain.”  He finally spotted and held up the baggie full of herbs.  “It...it’s not what it looks like, I swear.  I’ll make it later, though.”  He sat back against the headboard.  “Why did you hide our stuff?”

Dennis picked up the pen.  L-E-A-V-I-N-G.  N-O.

Anger boiled softly in the pit of Jonathan’s stomach.  “Leaving yes,” he said.  “Wesley did something unforgivable.”

The pen hovered questioningly but Jonathan shook his head.  “I don’t want to talk about it right now,” he muttered.

The pen fell with a small clatter, and Jonathan thought for a moment that Dennis must have left.  But then a cold presence wrapped itself around his arm and slowly his arm became numb to the sharp ache of the stitches.  Jonathan sighed with temporary relief.

“I wish I could just say he was crazy or didn’t know any better, but he did.  He just thought it didn’t matter anymore.  That’s what he said.  It didn’t matter that he was holding a woman hostage and - and enslaved in his closet until he found Angel.”

The cold presence recoiled from him.  The air began to vibrate again.  Jonathan closed his eyes; it hurt to watch the walls seem to fluctuate.  “Yeah,” he agreed.  “That was pretty much my reaction.”

Something on the bedside table fell over with a loud thump, and Jonathan’s eyes flew open again.  As soon as he did, the pen went back into action, tapping out W-H-O and then hovering questioningly.

“I don’t know her name,” Jonathan admitted.  “Red hair, older - maybe thirty?  He said she was the one who cut his throat.  I don’t know anything more than that.”

The pen shook a “No.”  Jonathan assumed that to mean Dennis didn’t know who she was either.

“He said he let her go,” Jonathan said hollowly.  So much for not wanting to talk about it right now.  “But I don’t know if I can trust him.  He could be lying.  He seemed to think she could lead him to Angel, and I think he’d do pretty much anything to find him.  I...he...Warren…”  He couldn’t begin to formulate into words the menacing connection he had made in his mind between what had happened to Katrina and what was happening to that woman in the closet.  The fear that Wesley lied to him and still had her trapped - or worse.  It wouldn’t be hard for a man with Wesley’s resources to hide a body.

He felt sick again.

By now, Dennis had heard the less egregious details of Jonathan and Andrew and Warren’s attempts at supervillainy.  He knew about the bank heist and the invisibility ray and a few other stupid tricks, and he understood that Jonathan and Andrew were now working their way towards some version of redemption.  But he didn’t know about Katrina or pinning the murder on Buffy, nor about how badly Warren wanted to kill Buffy, how he had nearly succeeded - and Tara.  How even Andrew had gotten caught up in the rush of chaos and power.

“I don’t think I can save him,” Jonathan said hollowly.  For a moment, he wasn’t sure he was talking strictly about Wesley anymore.

The pen once more settled on the bedside table and the ghostly presence withdrew.  There was a sound of running water from the bathroom, then more water splashing into the sink.  A moment later, a wet facecloth and a plastic cup Andrew usually used to rinse out his mouth floated into the bedroom and placed themselves on the bedside table.  Cold pressure lifted Jonathan’s arm and carefully began to unwind the bandages.

Jonathan held his breath as more and more of his mutilated arm was revealed.  It didn’t look as bad as it felt, but there were a lot of stitches.  He hissed when one of them snagged on the bandage; Dennis soothed the spot with a cooling touch.  Jonathan relaxed, pulled the comforter higher up on his lap so that the warmth counterbalanced the cold radiating into his side.

When the bandage was fully off, the facecloth wrung itself out once more into the cup, then began to wash Jonathan’s arm with careful, timid strokes.

Jonathan remembered to breathe again, a deep, stuttering breath.  Another.  Another.  He wasn’t about to cry, but he wanted to.  He wanted to get all the badness out of his system to make room for good.  But what good?  Was he doomed to forever be shunted and pushed around by sociopaths who made promises they would never fulfill?

“We wanted a sex slave,” Jonathan said, the words tumbling out so quietly and so unexpectedly, that he wasn’t sure he actually said them.  The washcloth paused in its ministrations ever so slightly, though, letting Jonathan know that he had in fact spoken out loud.  “We...we somehow thought it was okay to brainwash a woman into coming back to our lair and taking turns having sex with her.  We… Well, I thought somehow that because she would say yes, it wouldn’t be rape.  No, that’s not right… It didn’t even occur to me that it was rape.  That word never crossed my mind until she woke up and said so.  I felt sick.  I...we didn’t actually make it that far but we would have.  I would have.

“But that wasn’t the worst of it.  When...when she tried to leave, Warren killed her.  He…” Here, Jonathan had to pause, swallowing down a fresh surge of nausea at the memory.  “I don’t think he meant to kill her.  But he did and - and he didn’t feel any remorse.  All he could think about was staying out of trouble.  She, uh….she was his ex-girlfriend.  Andrew and I didn’t know.  He picked her out and we thought it was random but it wasn’t.  He wanted her back no matter the means.”

Jonathan lapsed into silence for a few moments, struggling to collect his thoughts.  The washcloth paused, waiting for him to continue.  Reserved, but not willing to write him off yet.  When he continued, so did it.

“He set Buffy up to take the fall.  He made her think she killed Katrina.   _ We  _ made her think it.  We went along because we didn’t want to go to jail.  We tried to stop him, we tried to get him to go to the police and see what would happen, but he insisted.  Not that that’s any excuse,” Jonathan said.  “We could have disobeyed him.  We could have listened to our consciences.  If we had, we wouldn’t have gotten in as deep as we did.  I mean, we were already in pretty deep but… Tara at least would still be alive.”

He swallowed, looked away from the invisible person taking care of him.  “Tara was Willow’s girlfriend.  A friend of Buffy’s.  He killed her too - on purpose this time.  Well, sort of.  He was trying to kill Buffy and he almost succeeded.  She was hit by a stray bullet.  Tara, I mean.  I liked her, you know?  She was quiet, sweet.  I talked to her a couple of times before the whole Trio thing, when I was still just a regular college student and she was another shy wicca.  Maybe we could have been friends if I had a little more courage or something.  But when I found out she was a lesbian, I didn’t think she would want to be friends with me.”  A cop out - secretly, he had talked to her hoping to get up the courage to ask her out.  When he found out she was a lesbian, he didn’t see the point anymore.  Stupid.

“I’m...I have no right to judge anyone after what I’ve done, but Wesley crossed a line that I’m not sure he can come back from.  Maybe he can, but… I can’t stick around to find out.  I can’t be another witless pawn in someone else’s game.  And I can’t let Andrew get sucked in again.  He isn’t good at making his own choices; someone has to look out for him.  I’m the only one who can do that.  He...when Katrina… He actually thought it was cool we got away with murder.  I thought I lost him then.  I didn’t have the courage to walk away on my own - knowing what Warren could do to me.  I wasn’t sure my magic stood a chance against either one of them.”

The washcloth continued its movements throughout his confession.  The strokes stayed even and steady, washing away the sins as they spilled from Jonathan’s lips.  

Finally it finished the last part of Jonathan’s slashed skin and was stuffed into the cup on the bedside table.  Jonathan stared at it, unseeing.  “That’s just an excuse I like to tell myself.  Whether my magic could have helped me or not, I should have taken the chance.  I could have saved a life but I chickened out.  I don’t deserve your kindness.  I don’t deserve to live in this nice apartment and eat good food while so many people have nothing.”

Y-O-U H-E-L-P, the pen tapped.

Jonathan shook his head, tears welling in his eyes.  “It’s not enough.  It’ll never be enough.

The shade on the bedside lamp rattled slightly - a ghostly sigh.  W-R-O-N-G.  

Jonathan swallowed, a strange feeling niggling at the back of his mind - it felt almost like hope.  “You think I can be forgiven?”

The pen hovered uncertainly for a moment, then plopped onto Jonathan’s lap.  A writing pad from the bedside table followed shortly after (the top page was covered with little notes and doodles done by Cordelia, but when Jonathan folded it over the next page was blank, marred only by impressions left by previous messages).  Dennis dug around in the bedside drawer until he found another pen and hovered by the table, waiting for Jonathan to get ready to start writing.  It took a long time and a couple of errors that almost ruined what Dennis was trying to say.  But in the end, the message became clear:

CAN PRISON BE ANY WORSE THAN WHAT YOU HAVE CREATED FOR YOURSELF? I CANNOT PROVIDE JUDGEMENT. NONE OF US CAN. THOSE WHO CAN ARE ABOVE US. WE CAN ONLY DO THE BEST WITH WHAT WE HAVE. HAVE YOU DONE YOUR BEST? MAYBE NOT. MISTAKES CANNOT ALWAYS BE FIXED BUT THEY CAN BE ABSOLVED. YOU DESERVE A SECOND CHANCE. ANDREW TOO. EVERYBODY DESERVES A SECOND CHANCE.

Jonathan stared at the message for a long minute.  He tapped the last sentence.  “Even Warren?”

HAD IT. TOOK IT. RUINED IT. FROM WHAT YOU SAY.

Jonathan shook his head, a single tear rolling down his cheek.  “I had my second chance already.  I should have died years ago but I was saved and - and I repaid that person who saved me by teaming up with her would-be killer.”

I WILL NOT CONDEMN YOU.

“You should,” Jonathan croaked.  “Stop acting like I deserve - I deserve - anything that isn’t, you know….” Lifetime in prison as someone’s bitch.  Death.  Anything but where he was right now.

I WILL NOT JUDGE YOU. I WILL ONLY HELP. AS LONG AS I THINK YOU ARE STILL MAKING THE RIGHT DECISIONS I WILL HELP HOWEVER I CAN. I CANNOT BE YOUR MORAL GUIDE BUT I CAN PROVIDE SOME SUPPORT.

Jonathan leaned back among the pillows to take this all in.  It was not absolution - not quite - but it was affirmation that he wasn’t without hope.  From a ghost.  Jonathan would have laughed at the ridiculousness of it all if it weren’t for his aching arm.

Suddenly a question struck him, something he hadn’t thought to ask before this.  “Dennis...how did you die?”

The hovering pen seemed to not want to settle down.  It hovered, then dropped to the table, then scooted along the table, then came back into the air, then dropped to the bed.  As if Dennis was trying to answer but didn’t know how.  Or didn’t want to.

At last, a one-word, eight-letter answer:

M-U-R-D-E-R-E-D.

Jonathan’s breath caught in his throat and he felt like he was choking.  “W-would you - could you ever - I mean….” He couldn’t ask what he was desperate to know.  He could not face the possibility that Dennis would say no.   _ Could you ever forgive your murderer? _

The pen landed so hard on the table that it bounced and then skidded to the back where it dropped down between the wall and the table.  Even if Jonathan could have asked the question, Dennis wasn’t going to answer.

A fresh bandage floated into the bedroom from the bathroom and hovered questioningly in front of Jonathan, who gestured to the piece of paper with his care instructions on it.  “I’m supposed to wear a bandage only if the wounds are likely to get dirty.  I figured I’ll just wear overshirts like I always do.  It’s only for two weeks or so.”

The change in subject brought a different feeling into the air.  The tension drained out of the room and out of Jonathan.  He felt lighter, though the doubts still niggled at the back of his mind.  He settled down in the bed, exhausted and sore.  Dennis returned the bandage to its proper place and came back instead with a couple ibuprofen and a glass of water.

“Oh,” Jonathan said sleepily.  “Thank you.”  He took the pills and swallowed them down, then lay back once more, drawing the blankets up to his chest.  “I have a prescription.  Can you remind Andrew to get it filled for me?”

A cool breeze ruffled Jonathan’s hair.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Jonathan murmured.  “You’re just moving energy.  You have no matter but you can manipulate particles around you, which should create friction, or at the very least creates movement, so shouldn’t ghosts actually produce hot spots not cold spots?”

In response, the blankets moved even higher up to Jonathan’s chin.  A cold pressure on his nose, like someone flicking it.  It was strange how if Andrew had been in Dennis’ place, nursing Jonathan and teasing him with flicks on the nose, Jonathan would feel incredibly uncomfortable.  But there was something altogether unimposing and inconspicuous about Dennis that made Jonathan feel...safe.

He spent most of the day dozing.  It was hard to fall into a deeper sleep when every comfortable position caused sharp pains in his arm.  Around mid afternoon, Andrew went out and returned an hour or so later with Jonathan’s prescription in hand.  Jonathan finally got out of bed and ran himself a bath.  He felt dirty and sweaty.  While he was at it, he stripped the sheets off the bed with one hand and dug out a new pair from the linen closet.  He left the new sheets in the middle of the bed and the blankets on the floor, unable to finish making the bed with just one hand.  He’d deal with it after his bath.

Jonathan felt a little strange climbing into the hot water.  He hadn’t had a bath since… probably at least ten years ago.  But he wasn’t supposed to get his stitches wet for the first 48 hours, so the only ways to get clean were a sponge bath, a regular bath while making sure he didn’t get his arm wet, or wrapping his arm in cellophane and taking a shower.  The cellophane idea sounded like too much work, and a sponge bath would not get him feeling truly clean.  So he filled the bathtub as full as he could with hot water, stripped off his boxers, and slipped into the slightly-too-hot water.

After a couple of minutes relaxing, he wished he had brought something to do.  Or was he supposed to just wash himself and get out like a shower?  Was he supposed to use Cordelia’s bubble bath or would that be too girly?  He uncapped the liquid and took a sniff; it smelled good but he had a feeling Andrew would make fun of him if he came out of the bathroom smelling like gardenia and jasmine.  What the hell was a gardenia?

Jonathan was just about to sit up and get on with washing his hair (as well as he could with one hand) when the bathroom door clicked open.  “Go away, Andrew, I’m taking a bath,” he said.  There was no response except for the shower curtain twitching aside.  “Hey!” Jonathan yelped, good hand plunging under the water to cover himself.

A mug of hot tea and a paperback novel hung in midair.  Jonathan glared at Dennis.  “Ever heard of privacy?” he muttered, but he was grateful for the distraction.

Dennis’ attitude hadn’t changed much towards either Andrew or himself since the confession, but it had changed.  He was still helpful and courteous, although his mischievousness had abated a little.  It was impossible to tell when a ghost was withdrawn, but Jonathan was sure he read a new hesitation in Dennis’ movements (barging into bathrooms uninvited notwithstanding).  Or maybe Jonathan was just transferring his own anxiety onto the spectre.

“Thanks,” he said.  “Could you, uh, just leave them...I guess on the toilet?”  Jonathan’s uninjured hand couldn’t move unless he wanted to be embarrassed, and the injured arm hurt to stretch so far.

The mug settled on the back of the toilet tank but the book pressed itself into the hand that rested on the edge of the tub.  The shower curtain rattled, which usually meant a laugh or a sigh, but Jonathan couldn’t figure out which it meant now or why.  Was Dennis laughing at his less-than-ideal physique?  His shyness?  A blush rose in his cheeks and spread down his neck.  He took the book from Dennis, but merely dropped it down to the floor beside him.  Not that he had any right to be sour, after everything he had admitted to Dennis earlier, but he really wanted the ghost gone.  Now.

“Thank you,” he said again.  “I think I’m good now.”  He pointedly twitched the curtain back into place.

Dennis may or may not have left at that point - it was often hard to tell with him - but Jonathan waited a couple more minutes until he felt safe enough to remove his hand from his private parts.  He shook off the excess water, but there was still too much, so he ran his fingers through his hair, hoping it would act like a sponge.  Not great, but it was better.  At least now his hand was dry enough that he could use both to open up his book and start reading.  He retrieved the mug of tea from the toilet tank and sank back into steamy comfort.

He got so wrapped up in his book that the water cooled before he knew it and he ended up pouring in more hot water from the faucet.  His tea was long since drained.  His arm was twingeing but not bad enough for him to take a painkiller yet.  His skin became all wrinkled and pruny.  He felt almost good.

After an hour he set aside his book and briskly washed his hair and body, doing his best with just one hand.  He stood up, drained the tub, and stepped out, wrapping a big, fluffy towel around his hips as he padded into the master bedroom to change into fresh clothes.  Dennis had mercifully returned all his stuff by then, and Jonathan was able to put on a new outfit, including a long-sleeve button-down, gingerly pulled on over his stitches.  Lastly, he put the sling back on - if he would be going out, he didn’t want people to accidentally jostle his arm.  Especially on the bus, crammed into the hot, sweaty, poorly air conditioned metal tube for an hour or so with dozens of other passengers.

He wanted to just forget about it and go back to bed.  The sheets he had left on the bed had miraculously - or spookily - put themselves into place.  But he couldn’t relax.  He had already put off the inevitable for too long - he felt guilty for having got caught up in his book when there was someone who needed his help.  He gulped down a couple of ibuprofen (he was saving the harder painkillers for night, or at least a time when he would not have to face a major confrontation) and walked out into the living room.

“I’m going out,” he announced to Andrew, who was playing a game of Sorry with Dennis while something delicious-smelling baked in the oven.  Where the board game had come from, Jonathan never could figure out, but it was a good way to spend a mindless hour or so, and it was something Dennis could play with them.

“You can’t leave,” Andrew said, jumping to his feet, a mild panic in his eyes.  “You’re hurt.  You’re supposed to be lying down and recuperating.”

“I’ll be fine.  I should be back in a couple of hours.”  It didn’t even occur to him to ask Andrew along.  This was something he needed to tackle alone.  Wesley had proven himself pretty desperate; there was no telling what he might do.  Jonathan couldn’t put Andrew into the line of fire, not again.

“No way, dude.  I’m coming with you or you’re staying here.”  Andrew jumped up and hurried into the kitchen to turn off the oven and take the food out.

“Leave that in there, Andrew,” Jonathan protested.  “I said I’ll be fine, okay?”  Without waiting for an answer or giving Andrew a chance to respond, let alone put his shoes on and accompany him, Jonathan headed for the front door.  When he tried to turn the knob, however, it stayed resolutely still.  Dennis was preventing him from opening the door.  “Let go,” Jonathan snapped.

The only response was a dull thump on the door.  Jonathan felt something inside himself snap and before he could stop, he reared back and slammed the door with his own fist.  Behind him, Andrew let out a small yelp while something in the door loosened, and when Jonathan tested the knob again he found that it turned without a problem.  Jonathan took in a deep, shuddering breath.  His vision was slightly blurry and his hand hurt.  Now he had an injured left arm and a right hand to match - though thankfully the pain seemed to be fading already.

He should have just left - the door was open and he could feel the tenseness in the room from Andrew and Dennis both - but something made him turn around first.  “Don’t you understand there is a woman out there in trouble?  I….I have to go make sure she’s okay.”

“Which is why I should come with you,” Andrew argued.  Jonathan realised Andrew was shaking visibly, holding himself away from Jonathan as if afraid Jonathan would hit him next.  Instead of making Jonathan feel guilty, it only made him angrier.

“Some help you’ll be,” Jonathan said.  “I’ve seen your ability to resist bad influences.  I’d be better off taking Peter Pettigrew with me.”

Before Andrew could say anything in his defense or before Jonathan could fully register the tears surging to his eyes, Jonathan stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door shut behind him.  Jonathan was also shaking, but not with fear - he was furious.  Andrew was so selfish and oblivious - Jonathan wasn’t even sure he understood what Jonathan was trying to achieve here in L.A.  He didn’t understand that they were just biding time, trying to rake up as much goodwill as possible before the inevitable return to Sunnydale and their punishment.  He didn’t understand that nothing they did now could ever make up for what they had done in the past - no matter what Dennis thought.

It was easier to rail against Andrew than face the truth: Jonathan was mad at himself.  He had spent all day lazing around and not fulfilling his duty.  Injury notwithstanding, he had an obligation to… someone.  The world, he supposed.  An obligation he had not lived up to and now he felt a churning in his stomach as he climbed onto the bus and took a seat in the back.

The ride to Wesley’s was long and at one point the bus turned so sharply that Jonathan’s injured arm hit the wall, causing him to stifle a cry of pain.  The man talking to himself a few seats over took this as an invitation to bring him into the conversation until Jonathan was able to escape by getting off the bus a few stops early.  He’d rather walk the rest of the way in the California heat.  He wondered briefly if that went against his resolve to help the helpless - but decided in the end it was better for all involved if he stayed out of conversations where tinfoil usage was so creatively explored.

Needless to say, but the time he got to Wesley’s, Jonathan was tired, upset, and in a moderate amount of pain.  When he knocked on the door, agony flared once more in his knuckles where he had smashed his own door earlier.  He bit down the hiss that threatened to tumble out of his mouth just as it occurred to him that Wesley might not even be home.

There was no answer for over a minute.  Jonathan didn’t want to knock again, so he whispered a couple of words into the door that subtly shifted the tumblers inside the locks.  Testing the doorknob, he found that it swung open easily.  He slipped inside.

Wesley was in his bedroom, taking the bars off the closet door.  “I told you I let her go,” he said without looking up.  “How did you get in here?”

“I told you I didn’t believe you,” Jonathan countered.  “I used a spell.  I’m surprised you don’t have wards up.”

“It has been very rare that I face an enemy at my own doorstep,” Wesley said mildly.  He never stopped moving, dismantling the prison door, and Jonathan became starkly aware that Wesley had a dozen weapons at his fingertips while Jonathan had none.  “Should you be moving around so much?  You lost a lot of blood last night.”

“I’m fine,” Jonathan snapped, the comment landing too close to his still-touchy nerves.  “Where is she now?”

Wesley sighed.  “I don’t know,” he said simply.  He sounded sincere enough, but Jonathan didn’t trust his own judgement right now.  “I let her go.”

“How do you know she won’t go to the police?” Jonathan asked.  He moved over to Wesley’s bed and sat down on the edge, his exhaustion getting the better of him.

“I reminded her that I was not the first person who enslaved her.  And encouraged her to live her life rather than just being a slave - and I may have left her somewhere that it won’t be easy for her to get back to civilization.”  He continued to dismantle the metal bars, stacking them neatly against the wall.  “I suppose that wasn’t very sporting of me, but she will survive.  She’s a fighter.  That’s part of the problem.”  He looked Jonathan in the eye.  “Now how will I find Angel?”

It sounded like a genuine question, but Jonathan had no idea how to answer.  “I guess just keep looking,” he said after a heavy moment.

Wesley went back to work and didn’t say anything else.

Jonathan fidgeted with his pants.  It felt like such an anticlimactic moment after so much worry and stress.  The woman was free and Jonathan didn’t even know her name, but somehow it seemed inappropriate to ask.  “The thing…” he started to say, then stopped.  Then started again: “The thing about it is...you said I know what it’s like to lose all my friends through a big mistake, but I don’t know.  I never had any friends to lose, and that’s what made working with the Trio so enticing.  I...had friends and it felt good.”

Wesley did not look at Jonathan, but the way his body was angled towards him suggested he was paying attention.  He did not say anything, for which Jonathan was both grateful and annoyed.  He was getting sick of doing the whole heartfelt confession thing.  At least with Dennis, there was a catharsis to opening up those old wounds and releasing the poison.  With Wesley, it just felt like an excuse.  A cry for validation for something that should never be validated.  After a few minutes of silence, Jonathan stood up and walked out without another word.

It was still early evening - not even 5:00 yet.  Jonathan walked down to the bus stop and got on the first bus that came.  It wasn’t headed towards Cordelia’s apartment, but that was fine - in fact, that was better than fine.  He didn’t want to go back there.

The bus took him further into downtown.  He recognised some of the streets from the nights he had spent battling monsters in dark alleys and damp sewers.  Gone were the swanky buildings of Cordelia’s and Wesley’s neighbourhoods.  Now there were just dirty brick facades and broken fire escapes.

He got off at a random stop and wandered further on foot.  The sun was still high in the sky and probably would not set until nearly 8.  Jonathan wished it were night time already; he wanted an atmosphere that matched his mood: dark and stormy and dangerous.  He wandered until he found a suitably rundown bar and went inside.

It didn’t take long.  The problem with being so small: the alcohol hit Jonathan’s system in no time at all.  One drink and he felt all sense of hope slip away.  Two drinks and he was wavering as he made his way to the bathroom.  Three drinks and he was staring at the bar surface, willing his empty stomach to stay settled while the bartender glared at him.

“Shoulda cut you off after the last one,” the bartender grumbled.  “But how was I s’posed to know you was such a lightweight?”

Jonathan didn’t reply.  He was pretty sure if he opened his mouth right now, it wouldn’t be words that would come tumbling out.

“...isn’t good place for...like you,” the bartender was saying.  Jonathan found it hard to concentrate on the sound of his voice.  “....wallet….call someone?”

His fuzzy brain latched onto those last two words.  Call someone?  Who?  Phoning Andrew wouldn’t do any good right now, seeing as he didn’t have a car.  Not that it would be a good idea for Jonathan to get into any moving vehicles right now.  Mostly he wished he was somewhere he could lie down.  Did he have enough money on him for a hotel room?  He put his head down on the bar, trying to cool his feverish face.

“Wake up,” the bartender said sharply.  “Y’ain’t sleeping here.  Call someone.”  Jonathan noticed that a phone had been placed next to his head.

“Nobody left,” he croaked.  “Hurt them all.”

“Yeah, well, looks like someone got in a hurt of their own,” the bartender said, indicating Jonathan’s arm.  “So maybe you’re even.”

That seemed to make some modicum of sense - at least enough to encourage Jonathan to pick up the receiver and dial from memory.

The phone rang and then there was a sound.  A beep?  Jonathan, completely forgetting what he was supposed to be doing, just started talking.  He was pretty sure he had gotten the answering machine, but that was okay.  “Dennis...Dennis listen to me.  Okay?  I’m sorry.  I’m not who you think I’m worthy of having redemption.  Okay?  I don’t deserve your caring.  I don’t...I shouldn’t...Andrew, I’m sorry.  I failed you.  I failed...I don’t wanna go to Mexico.  I wanna go home some day.  Can we go home?  I...I need to go home.  I think I’m gonna be sick.”

He hung up and pushed the phone back at the bartender, who made a disgruntled noise.  Jonathan lay his head back down on the counter and this time he was not reprimanded.  He lost track of time, focusing on keeping the bile in his stomach from coming up.  He thought about all the people he had hurt and disappointed.  He thought briefly about his parents, but that proved too painful, so instead he focused on the dozens of other people.  There were so many.

Time fluctuated strangely and Jonathan lost track of himself and what he was doing.  He remembered stumbling off to the bathroom a couple more times, mercifully keeping his stomach calm, though once there was a close call.  On his way back from the second trip to the bathroom, he nearly ran into someone heading in the opposite direction.  “Sorry,” he muttered.

“Jonathan?”

Jonathan peered through the haze of bad lighting and alcohol.  “Wesley?  What’re you doin’ here?”

“You called me,” Wesley said wryly.  “Left a message on my machine.  I was just about to head out on the boat but this sounded a bit more urgent.  Are you alright?”

Jonathan opened his mouth to say he was fine, but then he shook his head.  “No.”

Wesley put a hand on his shoulder and led him to the bar, dropped a couple of bills on the counter, and nodded to the bartender.  He steered Jonathan out the door to his motorcycle.

“Are you going to be sick if you ride with me?”

“Probably,” Jonathan admitted.

Wesley handed him the spare helmet.  “Give me warning before you do and I’ll pull over.  Hopefully this won’t be a long ride.”

“I don’t want to go back to the apartment,” Jonathan protested.

Wesley straddled the motorcycle and waited for Jonathan to do the same.  “Andrew is worried sick about you.  I called him to let him know I’d be bringing you home.  He seemed to think I had murdered you and would be bringing home your corpse.  So try not to fall off, or else he’ll end up being correct.”

It was not a very funny joke, but Jonathan snorted anyway.  “I called Andrew,” he said, frowning suddenly.

Wesley chuckled quietly.  “No, you called me and left a message for Dennis and Andrew on my machine.  It’s probably best they didn’t hear it.”

Jonathan tried to remember what he had said, but it was all a big blank.  “Okay,” he said at last, climbing on behind Wesley and clutching at his waist.

“Do not throw up on my back,” Wesley warned.

The ride through the streets was not as empty as Jonathan would have liked.  It wasn’t very late still, and there were still plenty of motorists on the road.  Twice, Jonathan made Wesley pull over but both were false alarms.  They managed to get back to Cordelia’s apartment without any bad incidents.

Jonathan was able to more or less navigate the stairs leading up to the apartment by himself, though he nearly tripped at least once.  At last they arrived at the doorstep, and before Jonathan could fish the key out of his pocket, the door flew open.  Jonathan swallowed hard - he could tell Dennis was pissed as hell, and judging by Andrew’s stance just beyond the front hall, he was not the only one.

“I’m sorry,” he said weakly.

“You should be,” Andrew said, crossing his arms.  “We were worried about you.”

Jonathan tried to come inside but Dennis pushed him back out again.  He closed his eyes.  “I’m sorry I worried you.  I wasn’t thinking clearly, and now I really want to lie down, please.”  This time when he took a tentative step inside, he was not rebuffed - though there was some resistance as Dennis made his reluctance known.  Wesley, however, could not come in at all.

“I believe I shall be going, then,” Wesley said, raising an eyebrow.  “I’m not ready to give up the search just yet.  I have to find Angel.”

“Okay,” Jonathan said.  “‘Bye.”  He shut the door, then turned around to face his friends.  “Look...I’m sorry I blew up at you.  I was frustrated and I took it out on you guys, and I’m sorry.  I messed up.”

The air pressure around Jonathan eased up slightly, and Andrew uncrossed his arms.  “Fine,” Andrew said.  “But you’re sleeping in the nest tonight.  I was gonna let you have the bed until your arm feels better, but jerks don’t get to use the bed.”

“Fine,” Jonathan agreed.  He was so exhausted he probably could have passed out on the sidewalk if it came to that.  “I’m going to sleep.  Don’t wake me up unless the apartment is on fire.”  He retreated to the living room, turned off all the lights, and stripped down to his boxers.  He laid down, which turned out to be a huge mistake.  He stayed completely still for a solid five minutes, then stood up, walked calmly into the bathroom, and promptly vomited into the toilet.

In spite of not having eaten much all day, there was a lot of sick.  He let it all out until it felt like his stomach was completely empty, waited a couple minutes, and then vomited again.  Cool air pressed against the back of his neck and a damp washcloth wiped his forehead.  Snot streamed from his nose and tears coursed down his cheeks.  Not all of it was due just to being sick.  He sat back against the wall, knees drawn up, feeling humiliated and shitty.

“You okay, dude?” came Andrew’s tentative, muffled voice.

“I’ll be fine,” Jonathan replied, just loud enough to be heard.  He staggered to his feet, flushed the toilet, and rinsed his mouth out at the sink.  He brushed his teeth for added measure, then, feeling confident he’d be able to keep it down now, he popped one of his painkillers into his mouth and swallowed it.

The damp washcloth draped itself over the edge of the tub to dry.  “Thanks,” Jonathan whispered.

A cool breeze caressed his cheek.

When he left the bathroom and returned to the living room, Andrew had taken over the nest and turned on the television.  “I changed my mind,” he said, not quite meeting Jonathan’s eye.  Jonathan had no choice but to take the bedroom instead, collapsing onto the soft mattress.  He was asleep within minutes.


	9. Chapter 9

“What happened to your arm?”

Jonathan glanced at his arm, surprised.  He wasn’t wearing his sling or anything, and the stitches were covered up by his long-sleeve shirt.  “Uh, it’s a long story.”

“Can I see?” Fred asked.  She was just dropping by to collect the rent, but then she didn’t seem to want to leave.  She looked tired and there were large purple circles under her eyes.  “You’re holdin’ it kinda funny, that’s how I could tell.”

Jonathan shifted slightly.  “It’s no big deal.  I just had to get a few stitches because I, uh, cut my arm while cooking.”  A brass figurine on the mantle fell over as Dennis made his displeasure about the lie known.

Fred gave him a disbelieving look.  “You cut your  _ upper  _ arm while cooking?  Why are all men so stubborn?  Sit down,” she said, directing him to the dining table.

“He wasn’t cooking,” Andrew protested as Jonathan hesitantly did as Fred bid.  “He never cooks.  I’m the one who does all the cooking, except when Dennis does.”  He was twisting slightly from side to side as he talked, trying to sound impressive.

“Oh.”  Fred looked chagrined as she dug a first aid kit out from under the kitchen sink.  Cordelia sure had a lot of first aid kits lying around, Jonathan had noticed.  “Charles told me you two met your other roommate.  Sorry we didn’t mention him when you moved in.”

A few pans in the sink rattled in displeasure.  “Oh, keep your shirt on,” Fred said crossly.  “We found you good roommates, didn’t we?”

Dennis’ favourite sharpie flew into the air and moved up and down.  “He says yes,” Jonathan translated unnecessarily.  He blushed at the unexpected praise.  It had only been a few days since Jonathan admitted his biggest mistakes to Dennis, and they were returning to normal, but slowly.  Jonathan had fully expected Dennis to disagree and indicate that Jonathan and Andrew were not people to be trusted.

“I kinda figured,” Fred said.  She smiled, clearly used to people underestimating her intelligence because of her flighty appearance and thick accent, but the expression was a strained and unhappy thing.  “Shirt off.  I promise I won’t look at anything other than your arm.”

Jonathan reluctantly shrugged off his overshirt, exposing the three stitched up gashes.  Fred’s eyes widened.  “You did this cooking, huh?” she said sarcastically.

“You caught me,” Jonathan muttered.  “I was actually trying to juggle knives.  Guess I should have started with bowling pins.”

Fred snorted, causing Jonathan to blush harder.  He hadn’t meant for the words to slip out loud enough for her to hear.  She traced her fingers down the wounds, her touch light enough to raise painful goosebumps.  “Whatever you did, you’ve been taking good care of these stitches,” she admitted.

“Dennis has been helping me,” Jonathan said.  At Andrew’s squeak of protest, he added, “And so has Andrew.  They’ve both been really helpful.”

“Dennis has a lot of experience with taking care of stitches and other injuries,” Fred said quietly.  She looked so sad for a moment that Jonathan had to look away.

“I guess, uh… no luck finding Co- your friend?” he asked.  He bit his lip, hoping Fred didn’t hear the near-admission that he knew the name of their missing friend.  It had been nearly two months since Jonathan and Andrew moved in, and in all that time Jonathan had never let on that he knew Cordelia - though this was usually aided by careful avoidance of the topic and very brief visits.  He had never mentioned his association with Wesley either, though that had been harder, especially as the evidence of what Jonathan and Andrew did in their evenings began to add up.

“No,” Fred said shortly, smearing some ointment from the first aid kit onto Jonathan’s upper arm.  He didn’t protest even though the action really wasn’t necessary.  “If y’all want to move out, you can any time just -”

“No,” Jonathan and Andrew interjected at the same time.  Jonathan continued, “We’re just sorry about your friend is all.  But we really like living here.”

Fred’s expression softened.  “I’m glad.  Y’all have make things so much easier, you have no idea.  I don’t know what we’d do if we had to give up this apartment.  What Dennis would do.”  Fred’s hair fluttered in a gesture of comfort from Dennis.

Jonathan shrugged his good shoulder, uncomfortable and embarrassed.  “Glad to help.”

Fred capped the ointment and wiped her fingers on the dish rag Andrew kept hanging on the oven door.  “I guess I should get goin’ then.”  Her eyes fell on a spellbook that lay open next to the stove.  She reached out to touch it delicately, a puzzled frown marring her expression.  Jonathan realised with a start that it was a book Wesley had let him borrow - and it was one of a kind.  If she recognised it….

Whether she did or not, she never said.  She just looked up at them with a tight smile on her lips and bade them goodbye.  Maybe she hadn’t known it was Wesley’s specifically but just had been reminded of him.  At least, that’s what Jonathan hoped.  He didn’t know what would happen if Fred and Gunn found out about their association with Wesley, but he didn’t want to find out.  The last thing he needed right now was more...messiness.

Jonathan stood up and went into the spare bedroom to sit amongst Cordelia’s stuff.  It had become something of a ritual after a rent visit, no matter who came to pick up the cash.  He felt better for some reason, as if sitting in here was equivalent to helping locate Cordelia.  At the very least, by being amongst her stuff, he was bearing witness to her absence.  At least, that’s what he told himself when the angry thoughts that he should be doing more to help her would rise up within him.

The room had transformed in the last two months. Andrew and Jonathan still did not use it for sleeping out of respect to Fred and Gunn’s original stipulation, but they had unpacked several blankets and a couple of spare pillows and made another makeshift nest. Mostly, this had been Jonathan’s work; Andrew liked the solitude of the spare bedroom on rare occasions, but he did not understand the comfort Jonathan seemed to derive from being surrounded by his former classmate’s possessions. Jonathan would go into the room at least twice a week, often on days after a harrowing mission and always on the day of rent collection, and he would immerse himself in her stuff. Maybe it was a little weird, but he didn’t intend it to be. Sometimes when he touched a blouse or played with a glass figurine, he would get a glimpse of her aura reflected in the grains.

In this way he slowly became reacquainted with someone he was never really acquainted with in the first place. Dennis never tried to stop him and in some ways actually helped: by pushing objects into Jonathan’s hands or tapping out brief stories about when she received something and why. Angel always seemed to be a recurring theme, although not always in the best light.

After a few minutes, the temperature dropped a couple of degrees, informing Jonathan that he was no longer alone.  This, too, was part of the ritual, but he hadn’t been sure if it would remain given the revelations of the last few days.

They were still trying to rediscover their balance.  Jonathan gave Dennis his space and let him seek out company if he so chose.  He noticed that his nightmares went on longer than they used to before Dennis eventually woke him up - or maybe the horror just seemed to last longer.

“You had to patch up Cordelia pretty often?” he asked now.

A pen - not the sharpie, since that had been left in the living room (there were now pens in every room in the house, littered on every available surface) - floated into the air and made a wiggling gesture, not quite a yes or a no.  So-so.  Jonathan almost said something about it being hard to imagine pristine Cordelia hurt enough to need stitches, but then he remembered senior year.  He didn’t know all the details - or even very many of them, really - but everyone in school knew the gist.

“Did Cordelia ever tell you about the time she fell down in an abandoned building?”

Dennis nodded and then a cold spear penetrated Jonathan’s abdomen right in between his lungs.  Where Cordelia had been impaled upon a rebar.  Jonathan didn’t know much about the incident, but it was the only time he remembered her being seriously injured.  Admittedly, he wasn’t exactly in the in-crowd, but when Cordelia Chase got so much as a splinter, the whole school knew about it.

His thoughts wandered with no clear course.  Two months gone - and even longer than that that she had last been seen.  Wherever she was, Jonathan hoped she was safe.

He wanted to ask Dennis to tell him a story for a change.  He was always talking about his school days, to give Dennis that connection to Cordelia he longed for.  The senior yearbook made regular appearances.  But he was sick of revisiting those old days.  They made him bitter and depressed.  He wanted to hear about the Cordelia who had left behind Sunnydale and had found meaning in a hodgepodge private detective firm.  He wanted to use her recent past to find hope for his own future.  Wesley wasn’t interested in reminiscing.  Whatever had happened to him, he didn’t want to dwell on it.  Any mention of Cordelia was usually couched in the current futility of trying to find her.

Dennis, however, could provide what Jonathan was looking for, but he was hobbled by slow and tedious communication.  Jonathan was getting really good at Morse code.  He no longer needed to write down most messages, unless they were really long.  Often, he could anticipate what Dennis was saying before he finished.  But lengthy, nuanced stories were almost impossible.  Not only was it tedious for Jonathan, but too much energy expenditure seemed to exhaust Dennis.  He had no idea what a ghost did to recharge its batteries (Dennis didn’t sleep, he had specifically said so) but after long sessions of tapping out messages, Dennis would go quiet for several hours.

Jonathan shivered.  The cold had already withdrawn from his abdomen but it left a lingering chill.  The room also was colder for having Dennis in it.   _ At least the air conditioning bill must not be very high _ , Jonathan thought, tilting his head back against the wall.   _ Although winter must suck _ .  A blanket wrapped itself around his shoulders and tucked in tight.  Jonathan smiled slightly, appreciating the gesture.

“By the way, I got you another book at the library when I went last,” Jonathan said.  “I couldn’t carry many, but I got you a small paperback.  You really seemed to like  _ Ender’s Game _ so I brought you the next one in the series.”

Dennis’ pen twirled in a small circle - a variation of the ASL sign for “where?”  Adapting American Sign Language for ghostly use had been Andrew’s idea, one which Dennis took to with abandon.  There weren’t many signs they could convert for his use, but the ones that they could had proven extremely helpful.  Andrew even started learning how to sign more things until Jonathan pointed out he didn’t need to know how to sign fluently - he only needed to know the same handful of gestures that Dennis picked out.

Jonathan withdrew further into the blanket.  “In my backpack in the living room.  Would you mind bringing me one of the other books I got?”

Dennis’ presence vanished from the room.  The air temperature increased slightly, but not by much and not very quickly.  Dennis’ effect on a room lingered - or maybe Jonathan imagined that it did.

A couple minutes later, the bedroom door opened just wide enough to admit a small paperback novel that floated over to Jonathan.  He took it and looked down at the cover as the door slid back shut with a click.  Dennis was still in the room - Jonathan could tell.

“Dennis, this is your book,” Jonathan said, a little bit perturbed.  “I’ve already read it - you can go ahead.”  He offered up the novel to the room.

The novel lifted out of his hands, then pushed insistently back into them.

“Stop it,” Jonathan said, pushing the book away so that he could struggle to his feet.  A cold pressure pushed him back down again and rattled the book insistently in his face.  When Jonathan made to hand back the book once more, it flew out of his hands, bapped him on the top of his head, then returned once more to him.  “Ow!” Jonathan yelped.  “What are you doing?  Is this how you would treat Cordelia?”  He stopped himself before he accidentally said anything too insensitive, but it was a close call.

The book opened on its own and pressed once more into Jonathan’s hands.  Jonathan accepted it with a frown.  It was open to the first page.  A cold touch to Jonathan’s lips sent shivers down his spine and electrified him at the same time.  Jonathan licked his lips automatically, a frown deepening on his face.

“Do you want me to read out loud?”

Dennis nodded his pen emphatically.

“Uh, I’m not… I mean you could probably get Andrew to do it.  He’s got...well, his voice is kind of annoying, I guess, but it’s not as bad as mine.”  Jonathan proffered the book up for Dennis to take it back.

A gentle but insistent pressure pushed the book back towards Jonathan.  The pen tapped out one word and then settled down: P-L-E-A-S-E.

Jonathan finally accepted the book, shocked that Dennis specifically wanted him to read out loud.  They had never done this before, and Jonathan was a little confused, but if Dennis really wanted him too….

Maybe this was something Cordelia used to do with him.  Maybe she would read from her magazines or mystery novels and he would listen to her for hours on end.  If that were the case, Jonathan definitely would not be able to live up to the expectations.  His voice really was ill-suited for reading out loud or even saying much of anything longer than five words.

Nonetheless, he started reading at the beginning, his voice even and soft, hoping Andrew wouldn’t overhear him and tease him.

_ Dennis gets lost in the sound of Jonathan’s voice as he unfolds the story word by word.  He has been so exhausted lately but it’s not an exhaustion that can be cured by sleep.  Or maybe it can, but ghosts don’t sleep.  Dennis wishes he could.  He misses sleep.  Alive, he never gave it much thought.  Except for when the air raid sirens went off, sleep was more or less a guaranteed thing.  He slept, so to speak, like the dead: nothing could wake him.  Now he wonders where that expression came from because he has not slept in 55 years. _

_ Jonathan’s voice is soothing, steady, even.  It sounds deeper than normal, if Dennis’ perceptions are to be trusted.  He doesn’t seem to be doing it on purpose - it’s a natural change in timbre evoked by the nature of the story.  It is easier for Dennis to “hear” the story being told to him than to try to perceive the letters on the page.  He should not have been so pushy, but Jonathan hadn’t been getting the message. _

_ It has only been a few days since Jonathan’s whispered confessions.  Dennis is not sure what he should feel right now, and what he does feel is confusing.  He wants to be horrified, to shun and deride Jonathan’s past actions but all he can think of is how they weren’t as bad as they could have been.  Almost rape.  Accomplice to murder.  Somehow those things don’t seem as bad as actual rape and murder, even though they should be.  They should be just as bad.  Yet Dennis has known Angel for too long to say a person’s past actions must condemn his or her future.  Jonathan seeks redemption now, and that says a lot for his strength of character. _

_ But more than that, if Dennis were to turn his back on Jonathan now, there is no telling what may happen.  Jonathan has only two people in the world he can count as friends: Andrew and Dennis himself.  At least, Dennis assumes Jonathan thinks of him as a friend; why else would he admit all those things?  Why would he seek out Dennis’ company and go out of his way to do little things like bring Dennis a book from the library?  Not even Wesley, even before the horror of the last week, could be counted among the people Jonathan trusted - or at least that was the feeling Dennis got based on their interactions.  Dennis doesn’t feel an obligation to forgive Jonathan’s past, but he knows for sure that condemnation will just drive Jonathan further into a bad place.  What he needs now is support, if not approval.  Support to be able to carry on seeking his place in the world.  A good place, a place where he is not reviled and scorned. _

_ It’s unbearable to Dennis that Jonathan should be yet another soul crying out for help that Dennis cannot do anything to save.  When he hears about Jonathan’s past and thinks about him sinking further into darkness, he remembers the women who his mother killed while he helplessly listened to them begging for mercy.  He thinks of Cordelia, lost and probably alone and maybe scared but always strong and he hopes she will come back soon.  He thinks of the people Jonathan could hurt if he gives in to that darkness, the people he already has hurt, and Dennis will do anything to prevent that from happening.  But just as powerful is the magnetic draw to Jonathan himself.  For reasons Dennis cannot explain, he - more than anyone else Dennis has encountered in these long years - feels like the person not only Dennis can save but the one he is meant to.  Somehow. _

_ And Jonathan needs a friend, so that’s what Dennis will be.  It’s what Dennis is best at.  It is not for him to pass judgement, so for now he will set aside whatever uneasiness he feels about Jonathan’s past and just focus on the here and now.  If being a ghost has taught him anything, it’s that time is subjective and although a person’s actions do matter...history is a long time.  All Dennis can really do is bear witness, which is what he vows to do for Jonathan and Andrew. _

_ He listens now as Jonathan reads from  _ Speaker for the Dead,  _ the sequel to  _ Ender’s Game _ , which Dennis had indeed enjoyed immensely.  He wonders if Jonathan notes the irony of the choice of book.  Not that Jonathan speaks for him, really - Dennis is pretty good at communicating on his own.  But there is an amusing flavour to this situation that would make Dennis smile if he had any lips.  The sequel is more philosophical than the original book, and it further compounds the reflectiveness Dennis feels, soaking in Jonathan’s voice as the story flows from his lips. _

_ “Hold on,” Jonathan says after several pages.  “I’m going to go get some water.” _

_ Dennis acknowledges this with a brief ruffling of clothes in a nearby box.  Jonathan disappears into the hallway, and Dennis shifts his presence to the spot Jonathan just vacated.  He pulls himself in tight, curling up into a ball and pretending he can feel the warmth left behind by Jonathan’s body heat.  He has spent the last two months waiting for Cordelia to come home and in the meantime enjoying Jonathan and Andrew’s company, but now for the first time he feels sad at the thought that they’ll have to leave once she’s back.  Cordelia will always come first for him - he wants her back more than anything - but he registers now that he will be losing something very important when she does return. _

_ Jonathan returns with a glass of water.  He weaves slightly as he walks, eyes darting around.  Dennis knows that he is searching for signs of Dennis’ presence so that he can avoid “bumping into” him, so to speak.  Dennis vacates Jonathan’s spot and goes into a corner instead.  He taps a box to let Jonathan know where he is, and Jonathan’s stride immediately takes on more confidence.  Before he can get settled, however, there is a knock at the front door. _

_ Jonathan freezes.  “Do you suppose Fred forgot something?” he asks.  Very few people ever come to this apartment - in fact, other than Jehovah’s Witnesses, only three people ever visit: Fred, Gunn, and Wesley. _

_ But Dennis already knows it’s not Fred or Gunn.  He can feel Wesley’s presence and he is already at the front door, jamming the locks and doorknob at the same moment Andrew tries to turn them. Andrew jiggles the handle uselessly.  Jonathan comes warily into the front hall. _

_ “Dennis, let go,” Jonathan instructs quietly.  Dennis refuses.   _

_ Wesley knocks once more.  “I know you’re home.  Please let me in.  Or I shall have to shout what I have to say through the door.” _

_ Jonathan comes up to the door.  Andrew lets go of the knob and takes a step back, allowing Jonathan to take his place.  Still, Dennis does not relent.  He wants to know what Wesley is after before deciding if he can be trusted.  Where Jonathan and Andrew are coming from a darkness that they’re fighting to make light again, Wesley seems to be heading in the opposite direction.  Dennis doesn’t judge him any more than he does Jonathan and Andrew, but he isn’t quite ready to let his friends be subjected to that darkness again if he can help it.  He doesn’t want to see them pulled back down.  Perhaps his loyalty should be towards Wesley, who he has known longer, but it’s Jonathan and Andrew who live with him and who are headed in the better direction. _

_ Jonathan leaves his hand on the doorknob as he responds, “Guess you’ll have to shout it.  You’re not very welcome here right now.” _

_ “I thought perhaps...well, perhaps it would be nice for you to get out of the apartment every once in a while.  You won’t be able to fight - assuming, that is, you still wanted to help out the team - so if you were interested, I would appreciate your company on my boat, searching for Angel.” _

_ He sounds like typical Wesley, but Dennis can feel the underlying tone in his words.  He’s lonely.  Dennis’ thoughts about Jonathan needing a friend come rushing back to him now. _

_ It could be a bad idea.  They could end up dragging each other down into the darkness. _

_ Or they could pull each other back up into the light. _

_ Either way, it’s not for Dennis to decide. _

_ He releases the locks and doorknob.  Jonathan, sensing the change in tension, opens the door.  Wesley looks surprised to see it open.  “I have earned Dennis’ approval, I take it?” he asks sardonically. _

_ “Guess so,” Jonathan agrees, but there is an emptiness in his voice that Dennis hates to hear.  He wants to slam the door on Wesley’s face to make that emptiness go away.  But that would be like putting a bandaid on a bullet wound - the emptiness already exists within Jonathan.  What he needs instead is to find something to fill it with. _

_ Maybe Dennis spends too much time observing Jonathan. _

_ Maybe he has nothing better to do with his time. _

_ Maybe someone needs to bear witness. _

_ Slightly overwhelmed with the thought, Dennis retreats into the spare bedroom.  He hears the voices in the living room as they discuss arrangements.  Jonathan sounds reserved, while Andrew sounds hopeful.  Wesley’s voice never wavers from its even tone, but Dennis knows the relief lurking in the shadows of his every word.  He will probably never admit it, probably, but Wesley has become attached to Jonathan and Andrew.  Their shunning of him must have hurt.  Dennis can tell in the way he holds himself. _

_ Some time later (it’s hard to keep track of exactly how many minutes pass when time means very little to you) the front door opens and shuts once more, and Wesley’s presence departs from the building.  Jonathan walks into the room almost immediately afterwards.  He looks up at the middle of the ceiling.  “Are you upset?” _

_ Dennis picks up a nearby pen and signalled “no.”  He sets the pen back down.  End of discussion.  He doesn’t feel like getting into all his mixed feelings. _

_ He is so tired. _

_ Jonathan closes the door behind him.  “We took Wesley up on his offer.  I want it to be only me, but Andrew got all weird about me going off alone.  I just...figure if Wesley has help, he’ll find Angel faster and then the faster we can just...get out of here.  This is turning into a nightmare.”  He shrugs his good shoulder.  “Seems like everywhere I turn I make the wrong decision.  What if it had been Andrew who got hurt instead of me?  How could I face myself if I got him in mortal danger?” _

_ Agitation flares up in Dennis, making itself known in the way the boxes around him flutter and vibrate.  Jonathan’s eyes flicker towards them.  “Andrew is just following my lead and… look where it has led us.”  He goes over to sit in his usual spot.  “I’m not a good leader.  If I was, I would have gotten Andrew away from Warren at the first sign of trouble.  Now I’m just following my gut, but my gut seems to have really bad instincts.”  He sighs.  “I don’t know.  I wish someone else could tell me what to do.” _

_ Dennis picks up a spare blanket - why does Cordelia seem to have so many blankets, he doesn’t ever remember her complaining that the apartment was too cold for her - and wraps it briskly around Jonathan as tight as he can.  The closest he can come to a hug. _

_ Jonathan stares at the blanket with wide-eyed wonder.  “Uh, thanks.”  Dennis tightens the blanket even more, and Jonathan relaxes into it.  His eyes drift shut for a moment, and he seems to be genuinely at peace.  Then his eyes open again and Dennis is once more struck by how beautiful they are.  Jonathan eases the blanket open slightly.  Dennis hopes he didn’t hurt Jonathan’s arm in his enthusiastic need to let him know he’s cared for. _

_ If he’s in pain, however, Jonathan doesn’t mention it.  He just picks up the book and holds it up questioningly.  Dennis picks up his pen and gestures his version of a nod.  Jonathan nods back, agreeing, and opens to where he left off and continues to read. _


	10. Chapter 10

“Death Star canteen is my favourite.  He also did a Star Trek one that wasn’t as funny, though.  Have you seen it?”

Wesley raised an eyebrow.  “Can’t say that I have.”

“He’s funny, but like...in a British way.  You know?”

Jonathan didn’t know whether to return Wesley’s amused exasperation with a sympathetic nod or not.  On the one hand, Andrew babbling on about Eddie Izzard sketches in the close quarters of the boat’s cabin was nigh on unbearable; on the other hand, watching Wesley squirm was hilarious (and harmless) retribution.

“You should watch  _ Dress to Kill _ , that’s his best one.  But it doesn’t have the Star Wars Canteen.  Or the Star Trek.  Actually, don’t watch  _ Dress to Kill _ at all.  Watch  _ Circle  _ instead, that’s really his best one.”

“They haven’t released an official recording of  _ Circle  _ yet, numbskull,” Jonathan interjected.  “That was the one you got the bootleg copy of off the internet.”

Andrew’s eyes widened.  “Oh.  Uh, don’t watch  _ Circle _ .”

Wesley raised both eyebrows this time, staring straight ahead at the dark waters of the ocean.  “Gentlemen, I think we’re all a little past the point of worrying about illegal recordings of comedians.”

Jonathan looked out the nearest window into the inky blackness of the night.  Nothing but stars and waves for miles around in every direction.  This was the fourth night in a row they had come with Wesley on his quest to locate Angel.  Jonathan had attempted a few different locator spells, but as Wesley had anticipated they were fruitless against the immensity of the ocean.

Behind him, Andrew had proceeded into a reenactment of the Star Trek skit - complete with a terrible British accent.  “You better not start running around in here when you get to the phasers part,” Jonathan warned.  “This place is small enough as it is, and if you bump my arm, I’ll throw you in the ocean.”

Andrew scowled at him, though Jonathan could only see the reflection of it in the window.  “It’s not as funny without the running back and forth.  How am I supposed to demonstrate the ‘Left the Oven on at Home’ setting?”

“I think I can imagine it just fine,” Wesley said wearily.  Jonathan met Wesley’s eyes in the window glass and this time he couldn’t suppress the amused smile.

Andrew pouted.  “It’s not fun to just imagine it.  I’ll lend you my copies of  _ Dress to Kill _ and  _ Definite Article _ .  Even if they don’t have the Star Wars Canteen, they’re still good.”

“Tea and cake or death, tea and cake or death,” Jonathan couldn’t help but chant under his breath. Andrew may have changed his mind but in Jonathan’s opinion  _ Dress to Kill _ was definitely the best of Eddie Izzard’s recorded shows.  “Hey,” he said, a thought suddenly occurring to him.  “How do you have copies of those?  I thought you left them in Sunnydale?”

Andrew stuck his tongue out at Jonathan’s back, which Jonathan again saw reflected in the window.  “I told you I found cheap used copies at the record store.  I knew you weren’t listening to me.”

Jonathan rolled his eyes and went back to staring at the ocean.  He rubbed his injured arm - it tended to feel the cold more acutely and the temperature was definitely dropping rapidly the further they got from shore.  The stitches would be removed in a few days at the hospital, though Jonathan was tempted to just do it himself, save the trip and the money it would cost to have the doctor do it.  The gashes were healing well, partly due to Jonathan being as careful as possible, as well as his roommates’ help in the caretaking routine.  Andrew made ointments that Dennis ensured were applied at the right time.  It was flattering how much they wanted to help, but also overwhelming.  Somedays he could barely lift a book without someone telling him it would be too much strain on his arm.

He appreciated their worry but they were both a little too overzealous.  It was like having two very persistent and protective geese following him around, one of whom he couldn’t even see.

Part of him still didn’t believe he deserved their help.  Part of him thought about how the only people who cared the last time he got hurt bad enough to go to the hospital were his parents.  He missed them so much sometimes.  They had never really understood Sunnydale the way the kids did - they were in denial about the strange disappearances, the grisly murders, the unspoken rule that you should avoid being out past sunset.  They thrived in their denial, and that was all Jonathan could ask for: that they be safe and secure.

Of course, denial wouldn’t stop one or both of them from being targeted by a vampire or some other godforsaken demon.

He had called them a couple of times from payphones, just to make sure their number hadn’t been disconnected.  He hung up as soon as they answered.  Part of him hoped they somehow knew he was the one calling, that fabled parental intuition.

“Are you getting anything?” Wesley asked, interrupting both Jonathan’s thoughts and Andrew’s steady stream of Star Wars trivia.

Jonathan dug a necklace out of his jeans pocket.  The necklace belonged to Angel, a small pendant he sometimes wore under his shirt.  Jonathan clutched it tight in his hand now and whispered a few words, but the metal stayed cold.

“Nothing on my end,” he told Wesley.  “You?”

Wesley checked his instruments, frowning.  “I see something on the radar, but I’m not sure it’s big enough for what we’re looking for.”

“Might as well give it a shot, I suppose,” Jonathan said with a shrug.  Every night they came out here, he felt the infiniteness of the ocean, the impossibility of their task.  They didn’t even know what they were really looking for, let alone how they would find it.

A few hours later, they had the same thing they had every night: a whole lot of nothing mixed with a crushing sense of futility.  Jonathan rubbed his face as Wesley guided the boat up to the dock.  All three of them helped moor it, and then went their separate ways.  Andrew and Jonathan had become experts at finding their way home from the marina.  Wesley was always willing to give them a ride home, but squishing onto his motorcycle was only bearable when it was an occasional thing - every night was too often.  They preferred to take late-night buses or, if it was unavoidable, a cab.  Jonathan had his eye out for a cheap used car, but money was still tight, even with the extra programming and other freelance jobs Jonathan and Andrew did over the internet.  With Jonathan keeping hold of their cash and Andrew’s keen eye for cheap groceries, they managed to maintain the same level of savings, and even increase it on occasion.  A car would eat away at those savings, especially if it ended up needing a lot of work.  On the other hand, there should be a spellbook or two dedicated to just the maintenance of cars, right?

By the time they stumbled home, Jonathan’s neck muscles were a knotty mess and his arm ached fiercely.  The futility of searching for Angel every night was starting to wear on him, to the point he almost forgave Wesley’s lapse in morality.  It took a desperate man to do what Wesley had done, and it was easy to see how a person could quickly become desperate when searching for a needle in a barn crammed full of hay.

“You want something to eat?” Andrew asked.  Even he seemed subdued, without his usual chipper bounce.  Jonathan shook his head silently, went into the living room, and collapsed on the nest.

Within a few minutes - or maybe it was only a few seconds that seemed to stretch into eternity - a bottle of ibuprofen floated over to him along with a glass of water.  Jonathan sat up just enough to take both with a murmured thanks to Dennis, pop a couple of pills into his mouth, and swallow them down.  He put the half-empty glass of water onto the coffee table and the pill bottle went back to Dennis, who whisked it away.

Jonathan twisted his neck from side to side, trying to work out the kinks in his muscles.  A cold brush against his arm let Jonathan know that Dennis had returned, and then the muscles in his neck suddenly began to manipulate themselves, simulating a massage.  Jonathan had no idea how he managed it, but Dennis was an incredibly good masseur.  Not that Jonathan really had anything to compare him to, but a ten minute session with Dennis working on his sore muscles usually left Jonathan relaxed and feeling less like the world rested on his shoulders.  Jonathan had not given in easily the first time Dennis tried to give him a massage - he had immediately gotten stiff and tried to shy away.  But over time, he had learned to just relax into Dennis’ miraculous work.

He burrowed deeper into the covers, letting their warmth provide counterpoint to the chill of Dennis’ presence.  From the kitchen came the sounds and smells of Andrew cooking some quick eggs.  Jonathan’s stomach gave a feeble attempt at interest, but he was too tired to eat.  Before he knew it - before he could do anything more than kick off his shoes - he was asleep.

_ It was like walking through a memory - Sunnydale in late summer/early autumn; the bright sunshine and the slight crispness to the air promised a chilly fall that would never come.  Southern California knew nothing of leaves changing colour or thick scarves and mittens or frost clinging to your every breath.  But that was okay by Jonathan.  He loved the predictability of the weather and the fact that he never had to wear more than a thick sweatshirt or jacket over a long-sleeved shirt. _

_ He walked through Sunnydale’s main street, past the movie theater and diner and jewelry store, thrown together haphazardly in what residents glibly referred to as ‘downtown.’  The library, the park, the abandoned building that was once a Halloween costume shop and then a chocolate factory and currently housed several vagrants.  The Magic Box.  His heart did not twist to see it for once.  Instead, he felt at peace.  Home. _

_ Yet, there was one striking fact about the town: there were no people.  It was empty - a ghost town.  Not only that, there were no vampires or demons or monsters.  Perhaps it was too early for them to make their appearance (the sun was just starting to dwindle on the horizon) but there was a quality to the town that made Jonathan think that it had been deserted by everything, not just the humans.  A chill blasted through his lungs but instead of terrifying him, it was oddly comforting.  It reminded him of Dennis and he suddenly did not feel so alone anymore. _

_ A whispering voice echoed through the streets, causing Jonathan to whirl around, searching for the source.  It was neither deep nor high, masculine or feminine, gravelly or smooth.  It just was.  The words doubled and tripled as they bounced around the empty buildings, overlapping until it was a hundred voices chanting the same thing but Jonathan could not understand the words through all the din. _

_ Without warning the ground opened up below him and he fell, jerking awake at the sensation as the words continued to echo in his ears: _

_ From beneath you it devours. _

Jonathan gasped as he awoke, for a moment not knowing where he was.  He felt the floor solid and reassuring below him.  Nothing could devour him.

The apartment was quiet.  Dennis was not in the living room.  Jonathan still felt a little trembly, but the dream rapidly faded from his memory until only the sensation of falling and the words remained.  He drank some more of the water, letting the coldness slip down his throat and plunge into his stomach, from where it coursed through his veins, sending a shiver throughout his body.  Had he been more alert, he would have wondered why the water was still so cold even though it had been sitting out for a couple of hours.

Instead, he drank down the water, stumbled up to go to the bathroom, shucked his outer clothes, and went back to bed.  This time, if he dreamed, he didn’t remember it in the morning.

\---

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Andrew asked, staring at the pot of boiling water.

“If we want to be able to afford a car, we need to save money as much as we can,” Jonathan countered.  “That means no more paying for doctors out of pocket.”

“Wesley can pay for it,” Andrew protested.

Jonathan moved the pot off the stove and transferred it to the counter instead.  Andrew squeaked and grabbed the pot handle before the hot bottom could make contact and ruin the counter.  He slid an oven mitt below the metal surface.  Jonathan sighed.  “He can, but I don’t want him to.  I don’t want to be indebted to him again, okay?  Look, I’ll be fine.  Dennis is going to help you.  Tweezers and scissors.”

Andrew scowled but handed over the items.  The scissors weren’t the surgical ones recommended by the website Jonathan had gotten his information from, but they were still sharp and pointy - perfect for getting into the tight place between the stitches and Jonathan’s still-healing skin.  Jonathan placed them into the hot water.

“Isn’t the water still supposed to be boiling when you sterilize them?” Andrew asked.

Jonathan raised an eyebrow at him.  “I’m not sticking my hand in boiling water to retrieve metal objects, dumbass.”

“How long do they need to stay in there?”

Jonathan consulted his watch.  “Uh,  a couple minutes?”  He watched the seconds tick by.  Dennis was being remarkably silent about the whole procedure, though he had made his objections known when Jonathan first announced he planned to remove his own stitches.  Now he had either decided to comply without protest or he just wasn’t going to be around at all.  After less than three minutes of staring at his watch, Jonathan grew impatient.  “That’s enough.  I think.”

Andrew grabbed a pair of tongs and fished the instruments out of the hot water, laid them on a piece of paper towel to dry.  Jonathan grabbed the bottle of rubbing alcohol he had put on the counter and tried to open it one-handed.  He wanted to use his injured arm as little as possible as if that would somehow make the stitches easier to remove.  After a moment of fruitless struggle, the bottle lifted gently out of his hand and opened in mid-air.  A cotton ball also rose in the air and met the bottle’s opening, where Dennis proceeded to soak it.

“Thanks,” Jonathan said, taking the wet cotton ball from him and, after making sure the tweezers and scissors were cool enough, swabbed them briskly.  He shrugged out of his long-sleeve shirt that had been covering the freshly-washed arm.  He wasn’t wearing any undershirt, and he felt rather exposed in front of both Andrew and Dennis.  Neither of them made any disparaging comments, though.

He took another soaked cotton ball from Dennis and used it to clean his arm.  He hissed and gritted his teeth as the alcohol pricked at the wounds.  Beside him, Andrew winced in sympathy.  When at last the whole upper arm was clean, Jonathan half-turned so that Andrew had easy access to his arm, and he braced himself against the kitchen counter.

“Ready?”

Andrew swallowed.  “Yeah.”  He picked up the tweezers with one hand and the scissors with the other.  His hands shook ever-so-slightly but after a moment they steadied inexplicably.  Judging by the brief chill when Andrew took hold of his arm to reposition it, Dennis was the reason for the sudden steadiness.  Together, Andrew and Dennis used the tweezers to lift the first stitch away from Jonathan’s skin, slid the scissors into place, and snipped.  The stitch pulled itself out of Jonathan’s skin and dropped to the floor.

Jonathan let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

“Ninety-nine stitches in Jonathan’s arm, ninety-nine stitches to cut,” Andrew sang quietly to the tune of Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer.  “Take one out...uh, don’t make him shout?  Ninety-eight stitches in Jonathan’s arm.”

“Don’t be such a dweeb,” Jonathan said, but there was no heat to his insult.  “Just hurry up.”

The process was slow to start out but quickly moved into a rhythm.  Only a few times did Andrew or Dennis or both tug too hard on a stitch or accidentally make Jonathan bleed.  On each occasion, Dennis was swift to react, grabbing the antibacterial ointment Jonathan had on hand just in case, and smearing it onto the bloody spot while Andrew - his hands now much steadier - continued with the next stitch on his own.  Jonathan continued to breathe evenly and focused on staying upright.  He didn’t feel particularly faint, but only because he was distracting himself from the fact that his arm had literally been sewn up and was now being taken apart.  He thought instead about how far along he and Dennis were in Speaker of the Dead now, how Dennis insisted on him reading the whole thing out loud.  Granted, it wasn’t a hugely long book - it was no Dune or A Song of Ice and Fire - but reading out loud took a lot longer than reading to oneself.

Jonathan wished, not for the first time, that he could at least see Dennis.  He didn’t know why Dennis didn’t have a spectral body, and Dennis couldn’t explain it - or maybe he, too, did not know.  Jonathan wanted to know what Dennis looked like but no photographs had survived fifty-five years of residents.  He wanted to know about Dennis’ life and death, but it was too hard for Dennis to communicate such lengthy thoughts, so Jonathan was left in a whirl of speculation and supposition.  Was it possible to have fanon ideas about a real person?

“Done,” Andrew announced at last, the last stitch falling to the floor.  He twisted from side to side, popping the kinks out of his back while Jonathan examined his arm.  Some scarring would remain, but for the most part it was healing well.

“Thanks,” he said as Dennis swept up all the stitches and dumped them into the kitchen trash.  “Hey, we should order pizza.  We haven’t had pizza since…” His voice trailed off as he realised exactly when the last time they’d had pizza was.  “We haven’t had it in months,” he amended hastily.

Andrew looked distressed for a moment, but then he perked up.  “Barbecue chicken and pineapple with green peppers?”

Jonathan gagged.  “You’re disgusting.  Pepperoni.”

“That’s boring.  Pepperoni and onion and pineapple,” Andrew countered.

“Pepperoni and onion, no pineapple,” Jonathan compromised.

Andrew thought it over.  “Fine.”  They shook hands in agreement while Dennis laughed at their antics.  Jonathan blushed, pleased that Dennis was amused by them.

Andrew disappeared to take a shower while Jonathan called in their order to a local pizzeria that delivered.  His arm felt lighter, as if the little bits of material weighed thirty pounds.  He flexed his arm experimentally, watching the way the muscles jumped and the skin pulled taut.  The strength he had gained fighting demons with Wesley’s team had evaporated in the last two weeks.  Not all of it, but enough that Jonathan would need to build his muscles back up if he wanted to get back into the fighting field.

The thing was, he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

He didn’t have to, of course.  He knew that.  So why was it so hard to convince himself that it wasn’t his duty to get back into the thick of the fight between good and evil?

\---

Another night out on the ocean, another night of overwhelming darkness and endless miles.  Stars as far as the eye could see, reflected in the smooth waves.  Jonathan sat in the bow of the boat, ignoring the sea spraying up in his face every so often.  It was better than standing in the tiny cabin with Wesley’s quiet desperation and Andrew’s waning exuberance.  The long hours with no results were starting to take their toll on everyone, but in Andrew it was most noticeable.  He still made valiant efforts to keep up his usual energy, but more and more often he would lapse into whiny complaints about the temperature or weather or some small flaw in the boat’s design.  Tonight it was the fact that there weren’t any built-in seats.

Jonathan clutched Angel’s necklace and chanted under his breath, borrowing power from the ocean, letting the magic flow through himself and channel into the pendant and then out, back into the ocean.  In and out.  Soothing, regenerative, essential.  Jonathan fell deeper and deeper into the pattern, the cycle, losing himself in the ebb and flow of forces he just barely controlled.

Something tickled his awareness, like a sneeze that might or might not come.  Jonathan clutched the necklace tighter, increased the power flowing through him until it felt like he was just barely holding on for the ride while something else swept through and crashed outwards.  The sneeze became a torrential downpour of awareness.  Jonathan lept to his feet, already shouting for Wesley as he stumbled towards the cabin door.  The magical forces dropped away, draining back to where they had come from, leaving just a slight tug as if trying to pull Jonathan down with them.

“I think I see what you felt,” Wesley was saying as Jonathan burst into the tiny cabin.  He adjusted one of his instruments, focusing on the reading.  “It could be a false alarm, but this is the best lead I’ve had in months.”  His voice was deceptively calm, but there was a tension in his hands where he gripped the helm.  “We’ll set up here.”

It took hours.  They had to line up the boat into the exact position to pull up the object Wesley had seen on his monitors.  Then they had to drop the anchor and wait while Wesley donned scuba gear and dove down to take a look.  When he surfaced, there was a tightness in his eyes as he nodded.  “It’s him.”  He dove down again, this time with hooks and grapples attached to a pulley so that they could drag Angel up.

This was what they had spent countless hours - what Wesley had spent literally months - searching for.  Angel.

Angel was the first step to finding Cordelia.

Finding Cordelia meant she’d be coming home.

Her homecoming meant Andrew and Jonathan would get kicked out and have to move on, just like they had originally planned all along.

Jonathan ignored the pang of discomfort at the thought.  He had always known that they couldn’t stay in Cordelia’s apartment forever, but suddenly the time seemed to have passed in the blink of an eye.  He was going to miss the comfort of the apartment, waking up to the smell of breakfast cooking, board game tournaments around the kitchen table, watching scifi marathons with Andrew and Dennis in the living room nest.  Him reading aloud to Dennis or the two of them sharing a private joke in Morse Code or just talking about the past and getting the bad feelings off his chest.

It hurt to think about losing those things, but losing was something Jonathan was used to, so he focused instead on the task at hand.  Fist over strained fist, they heaved and pulled until the large object - heavy and waterlogged - rose inch by inch to the surface.  It took some shimmying and manoeuvring but finally, the wood and plexiglass box lay lengthwise on the deck.  All three men were soaked and shivering, but it was nothing compared to what Jonathan could see of Angel through the plastic: his skin was cracked and peeling, in some places so badly that they could see the muscle underneath.  He stared wildly at them, eyes terrifyingly blank.  He muttered in his prison, blue lips constantly moving, forming nonsensical words.

Wesley moved briskly around the cramped space, lighting a blowtorch to melt the hinges so that they could open the lid.  “Andrew,” Wesley directed, extinguishing the blowtorch and setting it aside.  Andrew stepped up, face pale in the dark night as he stared down at Angel’s restless face.  “Count of three.  One...two...three!”

Together, they heaved the heavy lid off the crate and Jonathan helped Wesley get rid of the chains holding Angel down.  As soon as he was free, Angel’s arm shot up and grabbed onto Wesley’s throat.

Jonathan yelped and tried to pull Angel’s hand away, but he was no match for vampire strength, even when the vampire had been at the bottom of the ocean for three months.  Wesley calmly reached up and eased Angel’s fingers away.  There was a moment of something...some understanding that passed between the two, and Angel lowered his hand.  Jonathan stepped back again, but he was wary.  There was no telling what Angel might do next.

“We need to get him inside.”

Jonathan and Wesley lifted Angel out of the box and carried him into the boat’s cabin, which Andrew obediently opened for them.  They laid him out on the table, and Wesley retrieved a jar of dark liquid from the small cooler he brought with them every time.

“Is that…?” Andrew began to ask but his voice dried up before he could finish.

“It’s pig’s blood,” Wesley said, unscrewing the cap and lifting Angel’s head so he could drink from the jar.  “Andrew, pull up the anchor and once he’s done, Jonathan, get us headed towards shore.”

Andrew stared at Angel, not seeming to have heard Wesley’s instructions.  Jonathan nudged him into action.  Angel spluttered and moaned, blood spilling out of his mouth to paint his cheeks and neck red.  Wesley cradled his head and helped him drink until the jar was empty, then wiped down his cheeks with a damp cloth.  It seemed like a strangely intimate gesture, one which Jonathan couldn’t bear to watch.

Several minutes later, Andrew returned and Jonathan went to the helm to get them started towards shore, pushing them forward at an even pace.  Wesley flitted around the cabin, moving stuff around and making sure Angel was comfortable, then darting outside to the bow to examine the box Angel had been in.

Angel kept up a steady stream of mumbling throughout the return to shore.  Most of it was unintelligible, but Jonathan caught a phrase or two like “Everything I touch turns to ashes” and “I have to stop him.”  Jonathan glanced at Andrew.  Were they supposed to try to find out what Angel was talking about?  Or was his mind permanently gone from starvation and exposure to water?

Wesley came back inside.  “How is he?”

“He keeps muttering to himself,” Andrew said.  “He said he needs to stop someone.”

Wesley went over to Angel’s side just as Angel tried to get up.  Wesley gently held him down, shushing him quietly and telling him to rest.

Angel looked up at Wesley, eyes glazed and unfocused.  “I should have killed you.”

Jonathan stared out at the ocean so he wouldn’t have to see the pain that flitted across Wesley’s face at the words.

He also didn’t see Wesley reach for the knife on the nearby bench, but Andrew did.  “Wesley, no!” Andrew cried.

Jonathan whirled around, saw Wesley raise the knife, saw Andrew dart over to try to stop him.  Wesley shook him off.  “I’m not going to hurt anyone,” Wesley explained patiently.  “He’s still delirious - he has been down in the ocean too long.  He needs more substantial nourishment.”  He shook back his sweater sleeve and brought the knife to his skin in one swift slash.

Jonathan looked away again, but he could not shut out the slurping and sucking as Angel fed off Wesley’s blood.

Jonathan manoeuvred the boat into the marina, then relinquished the helm to Wesley so he could guide them up to the dock.  Andrew and Jonathan tied the boat down, then returned to help Wesley carry a slightly more coherent Angel off.  Before they got any further, however, Wesley shifted Angel’s weight so he could dig his mobile out of his pants pocket.

“Speed dial 3,” he said, tossing the phone to Jonathan.  If the cut on Wes’ arm was bothering him, he didn’t show it.

Jonathan flipped open the phone, hit 3, and the call button.  Jonathan recognised Gunn’s voice when he answered, sounding wide awake in spite of the late hour.

“Wes?”

Jonathan cleared his throat.  “Uh, actually...long story, but it’s Jonathan calling for Wesley.  We need you to come pick us up at the marina.  We’re here with Wes and...and Angel.”

There was a long moment of silence, then: “We’ll be there in fifteen, don’t move.”  He hung up.

Jonathan shut the phone and slipped it into his pocket.  “They’ll be here soon,” he told the others.  He couldn’t look at Angel, whose eyes were still rolling and he kept muttering nonsense under his breath.

Wesley looked at him.  “‘They’?”

Jonathan shrugged.  “I guess Fred’s coming too.  He didn’t exactly specify.”

Wesley cast a worried sideways glance at Angel.  “If Connor is coming with them, this might be bad.”  Angel let out a low growl when Wesley said the name.

Jonathan and Andrew exchanged a confused look.  “Connor’s that teenager who lives with Fred and Gunn?” Andrew asked.  “Why would that be bad?”

“Connor is Angel’s son,” Wesley said.  “He’s the one who did this to him.  How long until they get here?”

“Gunn said fifteen minutes,” Jonathan said.  His eyes met Angel’s for a split second, and something happened: Angel seemed to focus and his lips formed a word that seemed too poignant to be a coincidence.  Sunnydale.  Jonathan’s heart leapt.

But then Angel’s eyes glazed over again and he growled low in his throat, making Andrew shift nervously away from him as much as he could without dropping him altogether.

“Here, let’s set him down over here,” Wesley said, guiding Angel and Andrew over to a building.  Together they lowered Angel to the ground, propping him up against the wall.  He stared at nothing, but the muttering trailed off.  He seemed more alert, if not focused.  Wesley rubbed his injured arm then held out his hand towards Jonathan, who dug his phone out of his pocket and passed it over.  Wesley slipped it into his own pocket.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, heading down the way towards where he had parked his motorcycle.

Jonathan knew that wasn’t going to happen.  If Wesley walked away now, he would not be coming back.  “Wait here with Angel,” Jonathan told Andrew.

“You’re going to leave me alone with a half-starved vampire?  Are you crazy?” Andrew yelped.

Jonathan hesitated.  He didn’t think Angel had the strength to attack anyone, but it would still be a bad idea to leave Andrew all alone with him.  Jonathan stood poised to go after Wesley but he didn’t move.  “Wesley,” he called out instead.  “ _ Wesley _ .”

Wesley did not look back as he disappeared into the shadows.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Jonathan spat, frustrated.  As far as he was concerned, Wesley could take his pathetic dramatics and shove them where the sun doesn’t shine.  He came back over to Andrew and Angel, squatting down by Angel’s side.  “Your friends are going to be here soon,” he said awkwardly, unsure if Angel could hear or understand him.  “They’re on their way.  Help is coming.”

Angel’s head rolled towards Jonathan and, almost imperceptibly or maybe it was just Jonathan’s wishful thinking, he nodded.  On impulse, he squeezed Angel’s soaking arm.   _ He’s almost as cold as Dennis _ , he thought, biting his lip.  Jonathan had seen blankets in the boat’s cabin, but he wasn’t going to retrieve them himself and leave Andrew in potential danger.  He felt sure Angel could hold on until Fred and Gunn arrived, though it wouldn’t be comfortable.

Ten minutes later, two figures came running down the dock towards them.  Andrew waved his arms to make sure Fred and Gunn saw them.  Jonathan stood up, unsure of how to explain what had happened tonight and for the last two months.   _ Sorry we lied to you all this time but here’s your friend back he might be permanently insane _ didn’t sound all that great.

“Oh my god,” Fred said, dropping to her knees by Angel’s side and clutching his arm.  “Is he going to be okay?  What happened?”

“Connor,” Angel moaned, eyes rolling towards Fred.  It was impossible to say if he recognised her or not.

“Connor?” Fred repeated.  “He’s safe at the hotel, Angel.  Come on, let’s get you home.”

“Connor,” Angel said again, struggling away from Fred’s grip.  She released him, confused, and looked to Jonathan for answers.

“Connor… he, uh, he was the one who did this.  To Angel.  At least, that’s what W-Wesley said,” Jonathan explained, unable to meet her eyes.

Fred shook her head slowly, horrified.  “That...that can’t be true.”

Gunn shifted his stance so that his feet were spread in a fighter’s pose and his hands balled into fists in his pockets.  “Maybe you wanna be doin’ some explaining.  How do you know Wesley?  What are you even doing here?”

“We- we’re from Sunnydale,” Jonathan said, as if that explained everything.  It sort of did.  “Wesley and I helped save the world once.  I promise I’ll explain everything as soon as we get Angel somewhere safe.”

“Where’s safe?” Fred demanded shrilly.  “Connor’s at the hotel, apparently waiting to kill us all.”  She looked up at Gunn with tears shining in her eyes.  “Did he get rid of Cordy too?”  She rounded back on Jonathan.  “If Wesley knew he was dangerous, why didn’t he tell us?  Why would he let us keep taking care of Connor and putting a roof over his head and -” She broke off with what sounded like a choked sob, but her expression was one of pure fury.

“We’ll take Angel back to the hotel,” Gunn said.  “And we’ll deal with Connor there.  Come on, baby.”

Fred slung one of Angel’s arms over her shoulders and Gunn pushed past Jonathan to lift Angel’s other side.  The vampire’s height absolutely dwarfed tiny Fred, but she pointedly ignored both Jonathan and Andrew’s attempts to help.  Not that either of them were any taller than her - in fact, Jonathan was several inches shorter - but they felt helpless in the face of her hurt and betrayal.

Once Angel was safely buckled into the back seat of the Plymouth, Jonathan made to leave, grabbing Andrew’s arm and tugging him along, but Fred pointed at them before they could make their escape.  “You’re coming with us.  You owe us explanations.”

The drive to the hotel was short and tense and silent.  At least Angel, sitting between Andrew and Jonathan, seemed to be coming out of his stupor.  His eyes were more alert and the muttering had ceased altogether.  His wandering gaze landed on Jonathan, stopping there for five whole unnerving minutes with a peculiar frown.  When Gunn finally pulled up in front of the Hyperion, Jonathan was grateful to scramble out of the back seat and away from those prying eyes.

“Jonathan,” Andrew hissed, grabbing Jonathan’s arm hard enough that Jonathan gasped in pain.  Andrew loosened his grip.  “Are they going to evict us?”

“I don’t know,” Jonathan snapped back.  He didn’t want to think of that very real possibility.  Instead, he darted up the steps to hold open the front door for Gunn and Fred to drag Angel through.  They deposited him on one of the circular couches in the lobby.  Fred marched over to a large, ornate cabinet next to the office and opened it up.  It was full of weapons of all shapes and sizes; Jonathan and Andrew both instinctively drew back.  Fred picked up something small enough to fit into her palm and slid it into her back pocket, then shut the cabinet again.

“What are you doing?” Gunn asked warily.

“I’m going to see if Angel’s ungrateful son is in his room.  We need to have a chat,” she said, eyes blank and emotionless.

“You’re not going up there without backup,” Gunn said.

“I’ll take cookies.”

Gunn covered the distance between them in three long strides and pulled Fred back.  “We’ll go up there together.  When he figures out that we know what he’s done - if he really even did it because let’s face it, Wesley’s been wrong before - he may do something desperate.”

“Oh but if he comes down and sees Angel just sitting here, I’m sure he won’t panic about that at all,” Fred retorted.  “We need to cut him off before he can do anything else to get one of us killed.”

Gunn hesitated.  He looked between the object in Fred’s pocket and Angel.  Then he looked at Jonathan and Andrew.  “I don’t think -”

“I don’t care what you think,” Fred snapped, wrenching out of his grip and marching up the stairs.  “I’ll be fine, you take care of them.”  She pointed at Jonathan and Andrew.

Gunn scowled after her, but made no move to chase her down.  Instead, he turned to Andrew and Jonathan, and folded his arms over his chest.  “Talk.”

They exchanged looks.  “There isn’t much to say,” Jonathan admitted.  He looked down at Angel, who was staring at him again.

“Cordelia,” Angel whispered.

Jonathan looked away, uncomfortable.  “C-Cordelia and I were in the same year.  We’ve known each other since we were kids.  We, uh...Wesley and I worked together only once but I guess he remembered me and when we ran into each other at a truck stop, he…” His voice trailed off, uncertain of how much to tell.

“He rescued us from certain death at the teeth of a swarm of menacing vampires,” Andrew jumped in.  “He dashed into the heat of battle and -”

“Shut up,” Jonathan said wearily.  “He did not.  I mean, he did save our lives, but it wasn’t….he didn’t…. Well, anyway, he told us a bit about Cordelia’s disappearance and that you guys would lose her apartment if you couldn’t find someone to sublet it.  That’s when he sent us to you.”

“Nuh-uh,” Andrew protested.  “He didn’t tell us it was Cordelia’s right aw- OW.”

Jonathan scowled at Andrew, who rubbed his ribs where Jonathan had jabbed them.

“What, you sayin’ Wesley was less than forthcoming?” Gunn snorted.  “Welcome to the club.”

“Yeah,” Jonathan said.  “But once things started coming together, we figured out some stuff.  Basically, that he was looking for Angel and that finding Angel might be the key to finding Cordelia.”  He shrugged.  “We wanted to help.”

There was a loud yell followed by a bang upstairs.  Gunn and Jonathan charged up the stairs immediately, where they found Fred standing over Connor’s prone form, taser in hand.  There were tears in her eyes and her lip trembled, but she stood tall as she glared down at the teenager by her feet.  “We need to tie him up before he regains consciousness,” she said coldly.

Gunn hoisted Connor into a fireman’s lift and carried him downstairs into the office and put him in one of the chairs there.  Fred followed, having retrieved thick rope from the weapons cabinet.  They tied him up briskly as if it were nothing out of the ordinary to imprison someone they had spent the last three months providing for.  A heavy silence pervaded the room.

“You should go,” Fred told Jonathan without looking at him.  “And you can tell Wesley we said thanks a lot for letting us live with a psychopath.”

“Are you sure….?” Jonathan hesitated.

“Leave.”

Jonathan left, gestured for Andrew to follow him, and together they made their way out into the bitter night.


	11. Chapter 11

The first thing Jonathan did when he got home that night was pick up the landline and attempt to call Wesley’s mobile.  It rang until the voicemail picked up.  Jonathan hung up without leaving a message.

Andrew was in the middle of telling Dennis about Angel’s harrowing rescue when Jonathan rejoined him in the kitchen.  He was also pulling out various ingredients from cupboards.  “What are you doing?” Jonathan interrupted just as Andrew got to the part where Jonathan apparently ran off after Wesley, leaving Andrew alone to fight off a half-starved vampire who wanted to suck him dry.

“Telling Dennis -”

Jonathan waved at the stuff scattered over the counters and specified,  “What are you baking?”

“Chocolate chip and raspberry cookies to welcome Angel home,” Andrew said.  “Ooh, do we have any red food dye?  Maybe making them look like blood will make him happier.”

“Why not just make red velvet if you want to make it look like blood?” Jonathan asked, humouring him.  He didn’t have the wherewithal to point out that although vampires could eat human food, maybe Angel wouldn’t appreciate his cookies.  Baking was what Andrew did when stressed, and Jonathan couldn’t argue with how delicious the results were.

Andrew scoffed.  “We don’t have any cream cheese because you used the last of it on your bagel this morning.”

“So?”

“So you can’t have red velvet without cream cheese frosting, doofus,” Andrew said.  “Otherwise it’s not red velvet.”

Jonathan frowned.  “Yes it is.  Red velvet is just the type of cake.  It has nothing to do with the frosting.”

Andrew stared at him as if he’d gone insane.  “You come into my kitchen,” he said in a horrible imitation of Marlon Brando as Don Corleone, “on this the day of Angel’s resurrection and you ask me to commit blasphemy.”

Jonathan rolled his eyes.  “Whatever.  If you’re going to be up all night, I’m going to sleep in Cordelia’s room.”  It was the first time in a long time either of them had referred to it as Cordelia’s instead of just “the bedroom.”  It felt weighted, poignant.

Dennis followed Jonathan, letting Andrew know he was leaving by thumping on the hallway wall. Jonathan made his way down the hall and stepped into the bedroom.  “Don’t you want to listen to the rest of the story of Angel’s rescue?” Jonathan asked him.

Dennis picked up a pen and motioned a “No” response then tapped out “F-R-O-M Y-O-U?”

Jonathan sighed.  “Not much to tell.  Wesley ditched us before Fred and Gunn could show up and now he’s not answering his phone.  Angel may be permanently brain damaged and according to Wesley - who may or may not be telling the truth - Connor was the one who sunk him in the ocean in the first place.”

The bedside lamp rattled in what Jonathan assumed to be agitation rather than amusement.  Jonathan tried to look hopeful for Dennis’ sake.  “Wesley thinks Angel’s the key to finding Cordelia, right?  She’ll be home in no time.”  Provided, of course, Angel recovered from his underwater stint and Wesley actually knew what he was talking about.

Jonathan had forgotten to grab his pyjamas from the living room but he kept a spare set in the bedroom for those nights he ended up sleeping in there instead.  He still generally preferred the nest but he had gotten less stringent about always letting Andrew have the bed, indulging himself in the comfort of a mattress when he needed to.  He took his clothes into the walk-in closet, turned on the overhead light, and changed quickly.  He emerged, shivering slightly in the cool air, and climbed into bed.  Dennis waited for him to get settled, his pen hovering questioningly.

“I don’t know,” Jonathan said, though he wasn’t sure what the question was.  “I wish I had any answers, but right now I don’t and the people who do won’t tell me because they’re too full of stupid pride or whatever and they don’t care what happens to the people they keep stepping all over in order to achieve their own goals!”  He took a deep breath; he had started off calm, but halfway through his voice rose and his hands balled into fists.  He was being jerked around again, waiting on other people to choose his life for him.  How did he keep ending up in this position?  He took another shaky breath.

“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted in a low whisper.

The pen gently floated over to the bedside table and laid itself down with a soft click.  The duvet lifted itself higher up, tucking around Jonathan’s chin.  Jonathan lay still for a few moments, waiting for sleep to come, but it refused.  He was so exhausted - but it wasn’t entirely a physical exhaustion (although part of it definitely was).  He was also vibrating with an energy fueled by adrenaline and frustration.  The same energy that drove Andrew to start baking cookies at 2:30 in the morning.

Jonathan shoved back the covers and climbed back out of bed.  If he couldn’t sleep, the least he could do was go help Andrew mix the batter and lick the beaters and listen to him finish the story of how they rescued Angel from his watery coffin.

\---

By 5:00 AM, the last batch of cookies was in the oven, the beaters had been licked clean, and even Andrew had fallen quiet due to sleepiness.  Dennis shooed them off to bed with unspoken promises to take the last batch out before it would burn and to turn off the oven and take care of the dishes.  Jonathan grumbled, but he stumbled down the hallway towards the bedroom, feeling a little better than the last time he had headed that way.  To his surprise, Andrew was right on his heels.

“Can I sleep in here, too?” Andrew asked.  “I...I’ve been having weird dreams lately.  I don’t want to be alone.”

Jonathan let out a big yawn.  “Fine.  Just stay on your side of the bed.”  It didn’t occur to him to ask what sort of weird dreams Andrew had been having.

The next morning dawned as it always seemed to in L.A.: sunny and just a little too hot for comfort.  Not that Jonathan or Andrew saw it.  They didn’t wake up and get out of bed until well after noon.  As promised, the apartment had not burned down and the kitchen gleamed brightly.  The dozens of cookies they had made sat on a large plate on the counter.  Jonathan went into the bathroom to pee, then relinquished it to Andrew so he could shower.  While Andrew was occupied, Jonathan set about making coffee and pouring himself some cereal (although the temptation to eat cookies for breakfast was strong).  When Andrew emerged, looking fresh and energized, Jonathan slipped in after him, grateful for that spell that gave them endless hot water.  He was only in there for a few minutes, however, when Andrew banged urgently on the door.

“Go away, I just got in,” Jonathan protested.

“Angel’s here,” Andrew hissed.  “I don’t know what he wants.”

“Damn it,” Jonathan muttered, ducking his head under the spray to wash away the shampoo.  “I’ll be out in a sec,” he said, sputtering as some of the suds got into his mouth.  He shut off the water, dried off quickly, and pulled his clothes on over still-damp skin.  Water trickled down his neck from his wet hair to soak his collar and make him shiver.

By the time Jonathan got to the living room, enough time had passed that everyone looked sufficiently uncomfortable.  Angel, Fred, and Gunn were sitting or standing at various parts of the living room: Gunn was at the window, looking out while keeping the curtains closed enough that very little sunlight came through; Fred sat on the couch; Angel stood by the fireplace mantle, examining one of the many superhero figurines that now dotted the room.  It was just a cheap piece of plastic that Andrew had gotten out of one of those 25 cent machines.  Jonathan felt self-conscious watching him examine the little model Wolverine.  Before he could say anything or move on, the tray of Andrew’s cookies floated into the living room and tapped on Angel’s shoulder.  Angel looked up, surprised.

“Hey, Phantom Dennis.  Thanks.”  He took a cookie and the plate moved on to Fred and then Gunn.

Jonathan found Andrew in the kitchen, making tea.  “Did they say what they wanted?  Are they taking the apartment back?” Jonathan asked without preamble.

“I don’t know,” Andrew said.  “Did they take the cookies?”

“Yeah.  At least Angel did,” Jonathan said.  “I assume the others did too.”

“That’s good, right?” Andrew asked.  “They wouldn’t take the cookies if they were going to evict us, right?”

“We’re not here to evict you,” Angel said, startling both of them and causing Andrew to yelp.  Neither of them had heard his approach.  “I just wanted to take a look through Cordy’s things and see if I could find anything.”

Andrew nodded wisely.  “Vampires can smell things that normal humans can’t.”

Angel stared at Andrew for a moment, then looked at Jonathan, bewildered.  “Well, he’s not wrong,” Jonathan said quietly.

“I’m not going to find Cordy by sniffing her stuff and then tracking her like a bloodhound,” Angel said.  The kettle whistled and Andrew poured the hot water into the teapot to steep.

“Do you have any idea how…. or who…?” Jonathan started to ask, dancing around the question he wanted to know.

“It wasn’t Connor,” Fred said, entering the kitchen and leaning against the refrigerator.  “If that’s what you’re wondering.”

“He’s not interested in hurting humans,” Angel said.  “It’s only demons he wants to kill.  And only me he’s interested in torturing.”

Jonathan looked between the two of them.  “But Wesley told us that Cordelia isn’t a human anymore, so wouldn’t she fall into the category of people he’d hurt?”

Angel shot a look at Fred, who looked down at Wesley’s name.  “Connor can’t make someone disappear into thin air,” Angel said.  “He doesn’t have the finesse.  If he were the one who kidnapped her, there would be signs, like there were with me. There would have been a struggle”

Jonathan was mollified, but barely.  Silence permeated the room; only Andrew moved about, getting mugs and sugar, and shooing Fred out of the way so he could grab milk too.  Angel folded his arms over his chest and studied the floor, clearly uncomfortable.

“So, uh...How’s Sunnydale?” Angel tried.  Andrew faltered in his preparations and now it was Jonathan’s turn to study the floor.

“It’s fine,” Jonathan said shortly.  “Same as it always is.  You want to see Cordelia’s stuff now?”

Angel perked up, relieved to cut to the chase.  Jonathan led him into the spare bedroom.  Angel’s shoulders slumped upon seeing the boxes containing Cordelia’s entire life in L.A.  He opened one of the boxes and pulled out a blouse, holding it reverently in his hands.  Jonathan looked away, knowing his was intruding on a very private moment.

“I’m going to -” Jonathan started to say, backing towards the hallway, but Angel didn’t seem to hear him as he said at the same time, “I, uh, I remember you.”

It was kind of a weird thing to mention, especially to someone like Jonathan who always kept to the shadows and was used to not being remembered - at least not for anything worthwhile.  Usually it was because he’d gotten food dumped on his head or kicked down a flight of stairs or something.  “You remember me doing what?” Jonathan asked suspiciously, taking a step back into the room.  A cold touch on his hand let him know that Dennis was there with him and he instinctively curled his hand into a loose fist as if grasping something.

Angel shrugged, digging further into the box of Cordelia’s stuff.  “Just being around, mostly.  I don’t think I ever knew your name.  But there was that thing in Buffy’s senior year.”

Jonathan swallowed - he knew where this was going.  “Graduation Day?” he tried, hoping that would be the memory not...the other thing.

Angel frowned.  “No - or at least that’s not what I remembered last night on the dock.  I was pretty out of it, but one memory kept coming back to me.”

“Oh,” Jonathan said, disappointed and sad that his gamble had not paid off.  “The rifle.”

Angel looked up, frowning.  “What rifle?”

Jonathan raised an eyebrow.  “The rifle I brought to school?  Buffy thought I was going to shoot up the courtyard?”

Angel’s frown deepened as he searched his memory.  “Oh...when she was hearing people’s thoughts.”

“ _ She was hearing people’s thoughts _ ?” Jonathan said.  “She heard my thoughts and figured I was going to kill everyone?!”  What had he even been thinking that day?  He couldn’t remember.  He just knew that he wanted it all to end.

Angel went back to sifting through Cordelia’s stuff, opening up another box.  “She heard someone the day before in the cafeteria think they were going to kill everyone, but she couldn’t tell who  thought it because there were so many thoughts from so many people.  It was driving her insane.”

Jonathan looked down.  “I remember her collapsing that day.  I was standing right next to her.”  The memory was fuzzy now, and distant with other more recent memories of encounters with the Slayer getting in the way.  Dennis’ cold touch encouraged him on, and like a Pavlovian response, the words continued to tumble out of Jonathan’s mouth.  “I felt so useless.  People kept walking around her even though she was obviously in pain and I was looking around waiting for someone to step up - maybe Willow or Xander, but they weren’t there.  When she fell, I ran for the library and fortunately found Mr. Giles.”

Angel smiled at him - a small, tired thing but a smile nonetheless.  “She was lucky you were there, then.”

Jonathan shrugged, unsure of what to say to that.  Buffy wouldn’t see it that way, he knew.

“I remembered Buffy’s Prom,” Angel clarified, returning to the original topic.  “You gave her a present.  It was a… an umbrella.  Class Protector.  I remember how happy it made her.”

Jonathan stared at him.  “You remembered that I was the one who gave it to her?”

Angel shrugged.  “Just a flash of a memory.  A lot of weird stuff went through my head in the last three months, but I knew that one was reality.”

It felt weird - almost blasphemous - to stand in Cordelia’s room and talk about high school memories of Buffy.  “What do you think happened to her?  Cordelia, I mean,” Jonathan asked

The change in Angel’s expression was almost palpable.  Talking about the past, he looked pained in a helpless sort of way.  But as soon as he focused on Cordelia, he seemed more energized and his expression turned almost hopeful.  He began digging through boxes with renewed fervor.  “Even if she was taken against her will, she has ways of protecting herself. We just have to find her and bring her back home.”  He looked at Jonathan. There was a determination in his eyes, a fierce stubbornness that refused to allow the possibility that Cordelia was gone for good. “Does Wesley know anything?”

“I know he’s been conducting an investigation, but I think he hit a dead end,” Jonathan explained.  “He said you would be the key to finding Cordelia.”

Angel frowned.  “What does that mean?”

Jonathan shrugged.  “Getting information out of Wesley has been like pulling teeth.  Out of a crocodile with a bad attitude.”

Angel stared at the pair of jeans in his hand.  “He didn’t used to be like that.”  He looked up at Jonathan.  “Is he still at the same phone number?”

“Yeah, but -” Jonathan started to say but Angel was already pushing past him on his way out to the living room.  Jonathan followed as the vampire swept into the room, coat billowing behind him dramatically.  Conversation ceased when Angel snatched up Cordelia’s cordless phone and quickly dialled a number from memory.

There was a moment of silence as the line rang, then Angel said, “Wesley, I-” before falling silent.  He took the phone away from his ear and stared at it.  “He hung up on me.”

Fred and Gunn exchanged a look behind Angel’s back.  Andrew glanced up at Jonathan, but Jonathan was already moving forward without even thinking.  He held out his hand for the phone.  “You want to see Wesley tonight?”

Angel nodded but he did not relinquish the phone.  “He’s not going to answer when he sees it’s the same number.”

“That’s why I’m not going to call him,” Jonathan explained.  Angel looked at his friends, who were just as confused.  He seemed unwilling to let Jonathan take charge.

The phone eased itself out of Angel’s strong grip and floated over to Jonathan’s outstretched hand.  “Thanks, Dennis,” Jonathan said, already starting to dial.

Angel snorted softly.  “Guess we know whose side he’s on.”

“There are no sides, Angel,” Fred chided.  “We all just want to get Cordy back safe and sound.”

“Some of us are better at working together than others,” Gunn muttered.

Jonathan put his finger in his ear to block out their noise as the phone rang twice before a familiar female voice answered.

“Diana, it’s Jonathan.  Hey.  It’s fine, thanks.  A bit stiff, but the stitches are out, so I’m able to start taking up work again.  Is there anything for tonight?  Yeah?  Okay hold on let me get a pen.”  Immediately a pen and scrap of paper pushed into his hand.  “Go.”  He wrote down a time and address, capped the pen, and stuck it in his back pocket.  “Thanks, Diana.  See you tonight.”

He hung up and gave the paper to Angel.  “Wesley’s got a little group of people who fight demons.  They’re going after a Krishtet demon tonight that has been plaguing Point Mugu State Park.  This is where they’re meeting.”

“And Wesley’s definitely going to be there?” Angel asked, still skeptical.

Jonathan shrugged.  “Probably.  I can’t guarantee anything, but…” He trailed off, unsure what to say that sounded confident.

“Wesley almost always goes on missions when he isn’t out looking for you,” Andrew told Angel.  “Now that you’re found, he wouldn’t have any reason not to go.”

Angel, Gunn, and Fred exchanged looks.  “It’s the best shot we’ve got if you really want to find Wesley,” Gunn said.

“If he’s got information on where to find Cordelia, I want to talk to him,” Angel said.

“And then what?” Fred wondered.

“And then we get Cordelia back,” Angel said, looking at Fred as if she had lost her mind.

“What about Wesley?” Fred demanded, rolling her eyes. “He’s got a lot to answer for, but he did save you. He spent months searching for you when all we encountered was dead ends. But we can’t just ignore the fact that none of this would have happened if it weren’t for what he did in the first place!”

“What did he do?” Andrew asked, perking up.

Nobody answered him. “I guess that depends on what Wesley wants,” Angel said, looking uncomfortable. “I had a lot of time to spend thinking, and I forgive him for what he did. But if he’s started up his own private investigation group, it sounds like he doesn’t plan to come back to Angel Investigations any time soon.”

“Could be it’s not anything serious,” Gunn suggested.

The three outsiders looked at Jonathan as if he might somehow know. “I don’t know,” Jonathan said, exasperated. “It’s not like he told me why he did everything he did.”

“What  _ did  _ he tell you?” Angel asked.

Jonathan hesitated.  “Only that all of his closest friends turned their backs on him because of a mistake he made.”

An uncomfortable silence overtook the room and nobody made eye contact with each other. Jonathan rubbed his hand along his thigh as if that could somehow take back what he had just admitted.

At last Angel sighed, breaking the tension. “Only one way to find out if he wants to come back or not. I’ll go to this address tonight and meet with Wesley.”

“ _ We _ will go,” Fred countered sharply.

Angel shook his head, standing up and getting ready to go. He pulled a hood over his head to protect it from the sunlight. “I’ll go. This is between me and him.”

Fred didn’t look happy about that, but she didn’t argue further. Angel nodded his thanks to Jonathan and Andrew, then swept out of the apartment. Fred followed suit, though she took a moment to say a proper goodbye to the boys.

“Later,” Gunn said, the last one to leave. “Thanks for everything.”

Jonathan waved a tired goodbye, then grabbed another scrap of paper and quickly jotted down the same address he had given Angel earlier. Andrew watched him curiously.

“Are we going too?”

Jonathan capped his pen and shoved the paper into his jeans pocket. “I told Diana I’d be there. You don’t have to go along - in fact, it’ll probably be better if you don’t.”

“I’m coming,” Andrew said immediately.

Jonathan rolled his eyes. Of course he should have realised that would be Andrew’s attitude. “Fine. We’ve got some time before we have to leave, so I’m going to finish my shower.”

\---

The warehouse was surprisingly cold for an abandoned building in the middle of Southern California in early September. Jonathan wished he had brought a sweater, though he knew things would be heating up soon when the fight started. By the time Jonathan and Andrew arrived, most of the team had already assembled. Only Jones and Wesley were missing.

Jonathan’s heart skipped a beat. If Wesley didn’t show up tonight, Angel would probably have other opportunities to confront him, but Jonathan felt personally responsible for the arrangement working out tonight. He gripped his mage kit tightly and tried to school the worry off his face.

Everyone greeted them enthusiastically, telling them how glad they were to have the boys back. Jonathan’s magical aid and Andrew’s first hand expertise on demons had been greatly missed. Jonathan assured them that they were back on the team now and that his arm was doing fine. He didn’t mention that he wasn’t sure how long he’d be back on the team - for all he could guarantee, this would be their last mission.

Nearly fifteen minutes after the scheduled meeting time, Jones and Wesley arrived together. Wesley looked no different than usual, his face devoid of emotion but steady and serious. He was carrying a metal briefcase with him. “Let’s move,” he said without any preamble. “The Krishtet will emerge from the sewers roughly two blocks south of here. Jonathan will lead us and put up a heat spell to slow it down. Krishtets exude freezing temperatures, dropping the air around them several degrees in a matter of seconds.  The heat spell will counterbalance that and give us a brief advantage.”

Jonathan fingered his mage kit, where he had all the appropriate materials for the heating spell. The best thing about living with a demon expert was that he always knew what ingredients to pack without needing to know Wesley’s plan ahead of time.

The team headed for the door. Jonathan looked around before following suit, but Angel was nowhere to be seen. Wesley motioned Jonathan forward to the lead, and all thoughts of Angel left his head as he muttered a few words to let himself blend in with his surroundings. It wasn’t exactly like making himself invisible; more like people - or demons - just wouldn’t notice him unless he did something to draw their attention. He spotted the sewer Wesley had indicated the demon would emerge from. It showed no signs of having been disturbed yet.

Jonathan stepped off to the side slightly, where he would not be in the way, then waited. Within less than five minutes, the sewer manhole rattled and then rose, and a pair of beady eyes peered out. Jonathan whispered more words, this time to heat up the surrounding air just as the beast emerged.

The battle was short but intense. Brownstreet got thrown down, but Hawkins and Andrew leapt forward in the moment of distraction and managed to severely wound the demon. Wesley stepped up at the last moment and swiftly decapitated it. Jonathan winced as blood splattered by his feet. Andrew wiped a hand across his forehead to clean away some sweat but ended up leaving a streak of red there instead.

“Wow, nice one!” a cheerful voice said from the shadows.

Everyone looked up, wary of this new stranger. Wesley’s already-stern face grew even more closed off as he wiped his blade clean. “Clear out,” he told his fighters, though he was staring at Jonathan as he spoke. Jonathan bit his lip, but he refused to feel shame for what he had done. 

Angel seemed unperturbed by the hostility in Wesley’s eyes. He came forward, rubbing his hands with a forced sort of geniality. “Running your own show now?” he asked rhetorically as the others left until only Jonathan, Andrew, and Wesley remained. Wesley did not stop moving, heading back for the abandoned warehouse two blocks away. Angel glanced at the boys, who shrugged helplessly. They all followed him.

“I wanted to thank you,” Angel said, refusing to be dismissed so easily. “For finding me and bringing me up. Must’ve been hard for you - ocean’s big and you had no map. Look, what - what went down between us...I wanted to let you know I had a lot of time to think down there. And I wanted to let you know that as far as I’m concerned, we’re okay. Okay?”

As Angel spoke, Wesley retrieved the metal briefcase he’d left behind in the warehouse during the fight. He opened it up and pulled out a file, which he handed over without responding to anything Angel had just said.

“What’s this?” Angel asked.

“It’s what you came here for. Everything I have on Cordelia’s disappearance,” Wesley said.

Jonathan moved forward to peer over Angel’s shoulder as best as he could. It was the same file from weeks ago, but now was full of even more clippings and details. Andrew stood on the other side of Angel and also looked. Angel, slightly wary of two strangers standing so close to him, shot them both bewildered glances before flipping through the pages.

“I don’t think she’s dead,” Wesley continued. Jonathan was standing close enough to Angel to feel him flinch at the last word. “I can’t say for certain, of course, but I believe she is no longer in our dimension. I could not follow her trail to the end. No living being can.”

Angel stopped on a page depicting a winged creature. “Dinza? Who’s that?”

“A dark demi-goddess of the lost,” Andrew breathed out reverentially. Jonathan remembered that was what Wesley had told him.

“An Eleusian mystery,” Wesley added. “One of several. Only the dead can enter her presence. Often, she ends up trapping them there for an eternity.”

“Sounds cheery,” Angel said, raising an eyebrow.

“I located her lair, but obviously could not enter,” Wesley continued, ignoring Angel.

Several pieces of the puzzle suddenly fell into place. By the look on Angel’s face, he had figured out the same thing: this was why Wesley had been so hell bent on pulling Angel back up, why he wanted to rescue someone he clearly had no intention of patching things up with.

“But she can tell me where Cordy is,” Angel pressed.

“No,” Wesley corrected. “At most, she can tell you where to look. Beware, though. She’s not even remotely trustworthy.” He closed the briefcase and started to walk away. Before he was out the door, however, he turned back and pointed at Jonathan then Andrew. “You’re off the team. You went behind my back, bringing Angel here, and I don’t trust you not to betray me again.”

“What?” Andrew yelped. “That’s crap! We’re totally trustworthy. I- I mean, maybe we told Angel you were going to be here tonight but - but that doesn’t...” His voice trailed off when it became clear Wesley wasn’t listening.

Jonathan glared at Wesley but didn’t protest the hypocrisy as Wes walked away. It was a mixed blessing, in all honesty. He would miss the feeling of camaraderie of the team but if this meant he no longer had to be jerked around by Wesley’s machinations, then he was perfectly happy to be cut loose. Although, he wasn’t sure if that meant they’d have to find their own way to pay rent.

Angel looked at them uneasily. “Sorry.”

Jonathan shrugged. “It’s fine,” he said hollowly. Andrew kicked a clump of dirt. “It’s not like we’d be sticking around once you rescue Cordelia anyway.”

Angel shot him a surprised look. “You’re not? How come?”

Jonathan mentally cursed himself. He forgot that Angel didn’t know this was just supposed to be a temporary thing. “We can’t afford to live in L.A. without income and without a rent controlled place like Cordelia found,” he lied on the spot. He hated how easy it had become. “It’s really not a big deal.”

“Oh,” Angel said. “Uh, well...you may have noticed I have plenty of extra rooms. You’re welcome to stay at the hotel until you find your own place. If you want, you can even help out with the business. Things have been slow while it was just Fred and Gunn, but I saw the way you two worked tonight, and you’re not bad. I’ve seen worse.”

That sounded almost like a compliment, but it was hard to be sure.

“Besides,” Angel added, “there’s the Sunnydale connection. Any friend of Buffy’s is welcome at the Hyperion.”

Jonathan’s stomach dropped so fast he felt a little dizzy. “I was never friends with Buffy,” he said sourly, stalking off after Wesley.

“Did I say something wrong?” Angel’s fading voice asked Andrew. Jonathan couldn’t hear the response, but a few moments later Andrew jogged up to his side.

“I didn’t tell him anything,” Andrew said.

Jonathan shrugged bitterly. It wouldn’t make a difference if he did. No matter how many good deeds Jonathan and Andrew did now, they could never make up for what they did in their last year in Sunnydale. They would always be outsiders, shunned, unable to fit in with society.

“Hey, d’you know what I’m supposed to do about Dinza?” Angel called after them. “Send her a gift? A sacrifice?”

“Sure,” Jonathan yelled back sarcastically. “Send her an unholy fruit basket.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the change in rating from Mature to Explicit. This chapter contains descriptions of masturbation.

Jonathan’s mind whirled as they bused home and continued to whirl when they reached the apartment. Cordelia was one step closer to coming home - but that didn’t spell the end for Jonathan and Andrew. They were off Wesley’s team but had an offer to stick with Angel Investigations and even live in the Hyperion. Jonathan snorted out loud, thinking of how rich it was for Wesley to call them untrustworthy.

“What’s so funny?” Andrew asked.

Jonathan sighed, shrugging out of his jacket and slinging it over the back of a dining room chair. “We’re all a bunch of hypocrites. Us, Wesley, everyone involved in this whole mess.”

“We’re not hypocrites,” Andrew protested.

Jonathan opened his mouth to argue, but a cold touch on his cheek silenced him. He turned towards Dennis’ presence instead. “Angel has a lead on Cordelia. She should be home any day now. Maybe as early as tomorrow.” He tried to force some happiness into his voice as he said it, but he wasn’t sure he succeeded.

He felt restless, so he opened up his computer and pulled up the code he was writing for some guy in Milwaukee. It was dull, mindless work - exactly what Jonathan needed to settle down.

A chill permeated the air around him, letting him know that Dennis was nearby. He couldn’t help but smile a little. “I bet you can’t wait to get Cordelia back.”

A pen lifted into the air and made a slow ‘yes’ motion. But instead of settling down again, it then made a slow ‘no’ motion. M-I-S-S Y-O-U, it tapped.

Jonathan looked down, a little uncomfortable by the raw honesty but mostly flattered that Dennis would actually miss them when they left. “We’ll miss you, too. But Angel offered us rooms at the Hyperion so maybe we could stick around and visit sometimes.” It felt cruel to promise something he might not be able to follow up on, but he couldn’t bear to admit the more likely alternative.

“Hey Dennis,” Andrew said, coming into the dining room and pulling out the chair next to Jonathan. “Wanna play a game?”

This time when the pen signalled yes it was a much more enthusiastic one.

\---

_ The thing about Jonathan that Dennis is coming to find is that he sparks. Like a match, he is innocuous and easy to overlook until the right conditions come along to set him ablaze. Or maybe it’s Dennis who is the match and Jonathan is the friction that causes him to catch fire. He watches as Jonathan’s nimble fingers tap out letters on the keyboard, deftly creating the building blocks that will become some sort of computer programme. Dennis doesn’t know the specifics, though he is sure that if he asks, Jonathan would be happy to explain. _

_ The first time Dennis sees the true power of Jonathan’s sparks comes a day or two after Jonathan told him that Cordelia would be coming home soon. Dennis doesn’t track time well - it has no meaning to a ghost. Mostly he measures it in whether or not the boys are asleep or awake, home or absent. They are no more reliable in their hours than Cordelia was, though, so wakefulness can mean daytime or midnight. Absent can mean grocery shopping at 11 AM or hunting demons after nightfall. All Dennis knows for sure is that Jonathan is still working on his computer code - or maybe this is a new code a new programme a new way to occupy his overactive mind - and Andrew is browsing recipes for a cake worthy of Cordelia’s homecoming. Dennis helps by highlighting Cordelia’s favourite ingredients. _

_ “Does she like pistachios?” Andrew asks. _

_ Dennis nods his highlighter yes but he does not make a mark on the page. She likes pistachios but they are by no means her favourite. _

_ “I like pistachios,” Jonathan comments blithely. _

_ Dennis thinks maybe he did too once upon a time, but it’s hard to remember now. _

_ Andrew flips to another page in a cookbook he bought cheap at the Goodwill. “I like nuts but they’re too expensive,” he says, a sly smile creeping across his face. “These days, a can of mixed nuts will cost you an almond a leg.” By the time he finishes the sentence, he is openly grinning and looking at Jonathan expectantly, waiting for the punchline to hit home. _

_ Jonathan doesn’t react for a moment, too caught up in his work to realise what Andrew just said. Suddenly he frowns and turns his head slowly to look at Andrew. “Walnuts to you if you think that was a good pun,” he drawls. “I pecan’t believe you’d stoop so low.” _

_ “I guess I can’t cashew off guard with the beauty of my puns,” Andrew counters. “You’ll filbert-ter if you just embrace my mastery.” _

_ “Your puns are a shell of what they used to be,” Jonathan says. _

_ Andrew struggles for a moment, and it looks like Jonathan might win, but then his eyes light up. “I’m glad you finally got that off your chest….nut you’re wrong.” _

_ Jonathan’s mouth opens but instead of words, a burst of laughter tumbles out of his mouth. He lights up in a way Dennis has never seen before, and Dennis is drawn like a moth to the fire. He thinks it must be a long time since Jonathan laughed this hard - certainly not since he came to L.A. Jonathan laughs until he can barely breathe, wiping almost-tears from his eyes. _

_ Andrew looks delighted and a little proud at his best friend’s mirthful glee. Where Jonathan sparks, Andrew bubbles: a steady, consistent motion that sometimes threatens to overwhelm someone who isn’t expecting it. The contrast between the two friends is discordant, incompatible, yet somehow they work well together; the bubbles bring the sparks to ignition and the sparks calm the bubbles to manageable levels. They build and work off each other to perfect harmony. Well, almost perfect. They are not without their clashes. _

_ But Dennis’ attention is not on Andrew or his connection to Jonathan right now; Dennis is focused 100 percent on the way Jonathan’s face lights up when he laughs, the sound deep in his chest that loosens ever so slightly. Dennis comes close, perceiving the reverberations of sound bouncing through the room. He wants more. He craves it. He never knew what he has been missing until now and he never wants it to end. Something shifts in him and fascination becomes passion. The same passion he felt to ease Cordy’s burden, but with a slightly different flavour. _

_ The phone rings, sobering Jonathan up instantly. A wary shadow returns to his face, and Dennis will do anything to bring back the smile, the unbridled happiness. “Hello? Yes? Yes. Okay. Oh. I’m sorry. I know, but I’m still sorry. Thanks, that’s really… Yeah, okay. I’ll tell him. Okay. Thanks for letting us know. Yeah, I’ll talk it over with Andrew and see what he thinks. Okay, ‘bye.” He clicks the button to end the call and just stares at the phone for a moment, lost in thought. Dennis feels a wave of trepidation wash through his presence; whatever news Jonathan just received is bad. _

_ “Jonathan?” Andrew asks fearfully. “What happened?” _

_ Jonathan sets the phone down but does not look up. “Cordelia’s not coming back. They found out she...well, I guess she’s a higher power now. Fred said that Angel saw her. She looked beautiful and was all….all surrounded by light and a sense of peace.” He raises his eyes at last, zeroing directly in on where Dennis is. “She’s safe but she’s not coming home.” He looks over to Andrew. “But we’re still welcome to continue subletting and work with Angel Investigations if we want to. Angel’s not sure how much he can pay yet, but at the very least he’ll cover the rent is what Fred said.” _

_ Dennis doesn’t hear Andrew’s reply. He’s already fading. _

_ He doesn’t know where he goes when he fades out like this. All he is aware of is not being aware of anything until he comes back again. It’s a bit like curling up in a tight ball in the corner of a room somewhere, under a blanket so no one can see you. He is alone with his thoughts, his sadness, his resigned happiness that at least Cordy’s not in danger. _

_ Dennis would never have anticipated this turn of events. Even with all the weirdness on her twenty-first birthday, the demonization and unexpected new powers… She was still Cordy. Not a higher power. She still lived and breathed and smiled and cried and slept and ate like a regular human being. She was divine, but only in the metaphorical way. Now she is gone and not coming back. She has a new home. _

_ But why didn’t she come take Dennis with her? _

_ Maybe it’s an unfair thing to wonder. She is probably busy doing...very important higher power things. She can’t worry about the fate of one stuck soul.  _

_ Still. It hurts to think he will never see her again. _

Jonathan sensed when Dennis’ presence left. He assumed Dennis went into the spare bedroom for some privacy, but when he poked his head in on the way to the bathroom, the room was a normal temperature and he couldn’t feel any ethereal existence therein. Nor was Dennis lingering in the master bedroom or the bathroom or living room or kitchen. He was nowhere to be found in spite of the fact that he couldn’t leave the apartment.

“Should we be worried?” he asked Andrew after a couple of hours.

Andrew was mixing batter in a large bowl. His efforts at a welcome home cake had turned into comfort baking for the people Cordelia had left behind. “I don’t know,” Andrew said, biting his lip until it bled. “Do you think he was just hanging around until Cordelia came home and now that she isn’t he’s like gone into the light or something?”

Jonathan rubbed tired eyes. “I don’t think so? He would say goodbye first, wouldn’t he?”

“Unless he couldn’t. Ghost passage is a now-or-never sort of thing.”

Jonathan couldn’t tell if this was true or if Andrew was trying to sound more knowledgeable than he actually was. It sounded plausible enough. “I don’t think he’s gone forever,” Jonathan declared at last, more out of wishful thinking than any logical conclusion. “He’ll be back.”

If he didn’t return by morning, Jonathan vowed silently to perform a couple of spells that would help him figure out what happened. He couldn’t bear the thought that Dennis would never be coming back, not after just finding out the same about Cordelia.

“Are we going to the hotel tonight?” Andrew asked, pouring the batter into his cake pan.

“Not tonight,” Jonathan said. “We should probably butt out until tomorrow. I don’t want to intrude.”

Andrew nodded and evened out the top of his cake with a spatula. “Okay. That means I have time to make the frosting too.”

“Want any help?” Jonathan said.

Andrew shook his head, sticking the spatula into his mouth as he pushed the cake pan into the preheated oven.

Jonathan wandered into the living room and tried to settle in front of the television, but he was too restless to watch anything. He felt more alone than he had in a long while. After a few minutes however Andrew joined him in the nest, spatula still sticking out of his mouth, and wrestled the remote out of his loose grip.

“What happened to the frosting?” Jonathan asked, surprised.

Andrew shrugged and pulled the spatula out of his mouth. He fiddled with it as he said, “It won’t take long to make, and the cake has to bake for an hour.”

Jonathan wasn’t sure how he felt about Andrew’s clinginess right now. Under other circumstances, he might be grateful for it. Right now, he just wanted something to go as expected for a chance. He wanted stability. Andrew couldn’t provide that. The theme park had proven that once and for all…

Jonathan shifted a few inches away from Andrew, who almost immediately followed his movements and inched closer. It was hard to tell if it was intentional or instinctive. Jonathan moved away again; once more, Andrew followed suit.

Jonathan stood up abruptly and moved over to the armchair instead. Andrew looked up at him, startled.

“Are you okay, dude?”

Jonathan shrugged, sinking low in his seat. He should just let it go, continue to push down his feelings and focus on the present rather than dwelling on the past. “You were going to abandon me,” he blurted out instead.

Andrew shifted so that he was sitting up straight, a hurt look on his face. “I wasn’t!” he said, confused. “I would never.”

“At the theme park,” Jonathan clarified. Tears burned in his eyes but he blinked them back. This was no time for him to fall apart. “With Warren. You two were going to betray and abandon me. You admitted it at the jail so don’t deny it now.”

“That was months ago,” Andrew protested. “I’ve been nothing but loyal ever since: the Robin to your Batman, the Watson to your Sherlock, the -”

“Only because you had no other choice,” Jonathan snarled. “You couldn’t make a decision on your own if your life depended on it. You always just want to follow someone else’s orders.”

“That’s not true, Moronathan.” Andrew crossed his arms defensively over his chest. “I’ve saved my own skin on the battlefield dozens of times - not to mention all the times I kept you from ending up shish kabobed on some demon’s horn or sword.”

“That’s not the point,” Jonathan cried. “You’ll stay by my side as long as I’m useful to you, but the moment someone you’re in lo-”

“Shut up!” Andrew yelled, shrinking back from Jonathan as if he had been physically assaulted, his face turning bright red.. “You shut up and don’t you dare speak ill of the dead.”

“He deserved to die,” Jonathan yelled back. He scrambled to his feet and stood as tall as he could above Andrew, heart pounding with fury and adrenaline. “He was a murderer and a double-crosser and he would have dumped you in a heartbeat as soon as you stopped being useful to him, just like he did to me and just like you would do too as soon as someone told you to.” It came out in a jumbled rush and his voice broke on the last word, but he stayed firm.

“Stop it,” Andrew whined, leg jittering with barely suppressed energy. “He wasn’t a murderer, he just made a mistake. And I fight for good now. I was going to leave with you when you said Wesley couldn’t be trusted anymore but then you got hurt. I helped take care of you and even removed your stitches for you.”

Jonathan’s shoulder twinged at the reminder, but he was unmoved. These feelings had been festering for too long, and now that they were out in the open, he couldn’t just shove them back down again.

Andrew raised his chin, eyes lighting up with determination. He stood up, pushing into Jonathan’s personal space. “I’ll go back to Sunnydale.”

Jonathan frowned. “What?”

Andrew swallowed but his shoulders were set and he met Jonathan’s eyes directly. “That’s what I can do to prove that I’ve changed. I’ll go back to Sunnydale and tell them it was all me and Warren. I’ll turn myself in and leave your name out, and I’ll take the fall. That’s what any real hero would do.”

Jonathan grabbed Andrew’s shoulders, holding him back. “Don’t be stupid,” he said, shaken. “Buffy would know you’re lying, first of all.  A-and second of all, this isn’t  _ Armageddon _ and you’re not Bruce Willis, sacrificing yourself to save someone else.”

“I will tell Buffy that I...I summoned a demon who took away your willpower and you were just doing what we told you to do because you had no choice,” Andrew said, shrugging him off.

“She’d never buy it,” Jonathan said.

“I’ll make it really convincing. Remember the  Glarghk Guhl Kashmas'nik demons  who cause you to experience hallucinations? So that you think you’re living one life but in reality you’re doing something completely different? I’ll say I used one of those to bend you to our will,” Andrew said.

Jonathan sighed. “You would really do that? You’d take all the blame yourself?”

Andrew nodded solemnly. “If that’s what it took to convince you that I will never betray you again, yes.”

Something tickled at the edge of Jonathan’s awareness - Dennis was back. Jonathan immediately felt the tension drain from his shoulders. Between Andrew’s vow and Dennis’ return, he felt something loosen within him. Things weren’t perfect - they couldn’t be - but they were getting better.

“Please don’t go back to Sunnydale,” Jonathan said. He shifted awkwardly on his feet. “When we’re done here in L.A. and ready to go back, we’ll both go. We’ll stand a better chance together.”

Andrew blinked at him, relief warring with confusion. “Okay. But if we were only planning on staying until Cordelia got home and now she’s not…?”

Jonathan sighed. He hadn’t thought of that. Now that they had no specific situation to look forward to as their departure date, how long were they going to stay in L.A.? “We’ll stay for as long as we can still do good here,” he said after a moment.

Andrew grinned, albeit a little shakily. He sat back down and, after a second of indecision, Jonathan joined him on the nest again.

“Hey, what about the frosting?”

“I’ll make it while the cake cools. It’s only going to take about five minutes.”

Jonathan dug the remote up from where it had been abandoned among the blankets and flipped through channels, still distracted. He stopped when Andrew told him to, but could barely focus on what was playing. “You okay, Dennis?” he asked softly.

Andrew looked away from the television, eyes darting between Jonathan and the empty air surrounding them.

Dennis motioned “no” a few feet away, then drifted towards the spare bedroom. Compelled to follow, Jonathan got up and handed the remote to Andrew. When he tried to turn the bedroom doorknob, however, the latch held fast. Jonathan let go, frowning.

“Let me know if you, like, want to talk or anything,” he said. He didn’t like the idea of Dennis being alone just after he learned he would never see his best friend again, but Jonathan couldn’t do anything if he was going to be stubborn about it.

Dennis tapped a brief O-K on the door and then fell silent.

\---

“Holy shit,” Gunn said the next day when Andrew presented him with the rather large sheet cake. “Did you make this?”

“Yup,” Andrew confirmed, beaming. “It’s part welcome home to Angel and part condolences about Cordy.”

“I still can’t believe y’all’ve known Cordy your whole lives pretty much and you never said anything until now,” Fred said, dipping her finger into the frosting and putting it in her mouth. “Oh my god, that is amazing.” She took the cake out of Andrew’s hands and put it on the desk behind the front counter, then rummaged around in one of the drawers for a knife.

“Here, use this,” Gunn said, grabbing a dagger that was lying on top of a filing cabinet.

Fred rolled her eyes. “That’s a 12th century ceremonial dagger, Charles. I’m not going to use that.”

“Not to mention it’s been hexed,” Jonathan added helpfully.

Gunn threw the dagger down on the reception counter as if he’d been burned. “ _ Now _ you tell me? How do you know?”

Jonathan leaned over the counter and used his pinkie to point to the runes etched on the side of the hilt. “This is a curse that anyone who uses this knife will be covered in some sort of pox.” He squinted. “Or maybe boils.”

Gunn stared at his hands in horror. “Boils or pox?” he demanded. “Are those the only two options?”

Jonathan straightened up. “The curse won’t affect you from just holding the knife. You have to actually use it.”

Gunn shuddered theatrically. “Still.” He grabbed several tissues from a box and used them to pick up the dagger. “What the hell do I do with this?”

Fred finally found what she was looking for and pulled out a plastic knife and several paper plates from one of the desk drawers. Jonathan raised his eyebrows - who kept paper plates in their desk? “Put it in a box in the basement, Charles. Mark it hazardous and tape it up with duct tape.”

Jonathan and Andrew moved quickly out of the way as Gunn passed them on the way to take the knife through a door on the other end of the lobby, presumably down to the basement.

Fred did her best to cut into the cake with the little plastic knife and served up four slices for herself, Jonathan, Andrew, and Gunn. It was only ten in the morning and Jonathan had not bothered to eat breakfast before they headed out. Cake seemed like a suitable fix for that.

“Where’s Angel?” Andrew asked, looking around as he accepted his own slice.

“In bed,” Fred replied. “He usually gets up around noon or so. There’s not much for him to do in the mornings.”

Jonathan felt a stab of embarrassment. “Should we have come later?”

Fred took a huge bite that was mostly frosting before answering. “No, this is actually fine. We try to keep more or less regular business hours for the humans who suddenly find themselves in the middle of something supernatural and need our help. Did you want to talk to him about the job offer?”

“Yeah, exactly,” Jonathan said.

Fred shrugged in between more large bites of cake. Jonathan played with his rather than eating it, while Andrew had abandoned his piece for reading a file that had been left open on the reception desk. “We’re in the middle of a case for a client, but it’s pretty much wrapped up. We’ll get the loose ends squared away. Mostly what we need right now is to rework the filing system. Cordy...Cordy took care of the filing and she had a, let’s say...unique way of doing it that makes absolutely no sense to any of us. We preserved it because we figured she was comin’ back, but now that she’s not we gotta make things a little more intuitive. Cordy could find a file in less than two seconds, but we don’t have the first clue.”

Office work? They wanted Jonathan and Andrew to do office work? That was far less exciting than fighting demons and slaying monsters. Did Angel not trust them, in spite of having seen their work?

Some of Jonathan’s worry must have shown on his face because Fred gave him a sympathetic smile. “It’s not the most glamourous life imaginable. There’s lots of busywork and down time and skimming dozens of books looking for one obscure reference. But things’ll pick up soon and we’ll be jumping into action in no time.”

Gunn returned and scooped up his piece of cake. Andrew pointed to something in the file he was reading. “I know this symbol.”

Fred pulled the file closer to examine it while Gunn peered over her shoulder. Jonathan stood on his tiptoes so he could lean over the reception desk and look at it upside down. “What is it?” Fred asked, setting aside her empty plate.

“A territory marking for a Cuelth demon,” Andrew explained.

“Cuelth,” Fred exclaimed, snapping her fingers and manoeuvring around Gunn to grab a book that was on a shelf. “We hit on that but it didn’t seem to fit the pattern. They prefer swampy regions, and this mark showed up in the middle of Beverly Hills.

“Actually, any standing body of water will do, especially since we live in such a hot city,” Andrew said. “Was there a pool or something nearby?”

“They had a koi pond,” Gunn said through a mouthful of cake.

Andrew nodded decisively. “Definitely a Cuelth. They’re pretty easy to take down. You’ll probably find it hiding in a garage or toolshed or something.”

“Day or night hunter?” Gunn asked, already making a beeline for the weapons cabinet.

“Dusk, usually. I think?”

“We go after it now, we’ll catch it off-guard before it has another chance to strike.”

Andrew looked at him, surprise written all over his face. “I thought Cuelths didn’t attack humans.”

Fred and Gunn exchanged a look. “Well...it was actually attacking the koi,” Fred explained. “The owner thought it was a neighbourhood cat at first, but then she caught a glimpse of the demon and knew it was something else.”

“You’re going to kill a demon for eating fish?” Andrew demanded.

“What?” Fred asked. “No, we were going to do a catch and release, you know take it somewhere it won’t hurt people’s pets. We were thinking near the ocean or something.”

Jonathan blinked. That was a surprisingly open-minded point of view. Then again, when your company was led by a vampire and you used to have a demon on your payroll, you probably ended up being a little more open-minded than most demon hunters.

Gunn grabbed a few supplies from the cabinet and slammed it shut. “Ready, babe?”

“You seriously want to go right now?” Fred said.

“Why not?”

Fred threw up her hands in frustration. “Fine. I’ll leave a note for Angel.”

“Uh, should we…?” Jonathan asked, a little unsure of their position right now.

“Andrew, you’re with us,” Gunn said. “You know more about this demon than me an’ Fred combined. Jonathan can stay behind and let Angel know where we went.”

Jonathan looked at Andrew, who stared back at him with wide eyes. Wesley had always asked a lot of them, but never that they split up. “Can...shouldn’t Jonathan come too? For, uh, backup?” Andrew asked.

“I don’t think we’ll need that many people,” Gunn said. “A fourth would just get in the way.” He grinned. “It’s not like we’re going to kidnap you and chuck you in the ocean.”

“Too soon,” Fred reprimanded him, glaring.

“Andrew, you should go with them,” Jonathan said. “You said it’s an easy demon to take care of and I’ll just get in the way, so I’ll stay here and get started on the filing.” He hoped he didn’t sound like a coward, but Gunn really did have a point. Too many cooks in the kitchen.

“That’s settled, then,” Gunn said. “Let’s roll.” He grabbed the supplies he had gathered and headed for the exit. Fred and Andrew did not follow right away.

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” Fred told Andrew. “We can take care of this ourselves.”

“No, it’s fine,” Andrew said, glancing at Jonathan, who gave him a tiny nod.

They left, and Jonathan found himself alone in a large hotel. He had no idea what to do if someone came in or called. He hoped Angel would show up soon; in the meantime, he began opening filing cabinets and peering into the content.

Fred was right, Cordelia’s filing system was a nightmare. Jonathan spent a good five minutes trying to figure out why one client had been put into the “F” section before realising she was from France. At that point Jonathan groaned out loud and buried his face in the file. The good news was, however, that each client’s name was printed legibly on the folder tab, so it was only a matter of alphabetizing the files by the last name.

Nevertheless, there were a lot of them. Angel Investigations had done well for itself in the last three years, and judging by the dates on the files, there had been a boom in business at the beginning of the year. Gunn, Fred, Angel, and Cordelia’s names repeated throughout. So did Wesley’s, and Lorne’s, the demon. Jonathan could not discern what had happened to him, why he was no longer with the firm. A few rather charred looking folders referenced someone named Doyle. Jonathan snagged his cake from the front reception desk and ate it while looking through some of the more interesting folders.

Cordelia’s precise handwriting detailed every case, every demon, every injury, every ultimate defeat of the Monster of the Week. Jonathan became so engrossed in his reading that he didn’t hear Angel come downstairs and grab himself some coffee.

“Where did the cake come from?”

Jonathan jumped, spilling a stack of folders off his lap. “Sorry,” he said, hastily shoving papers back into the appropriate files.

“My fault,” Angel said. “Cordelia always told me to stop sneaking up on people, but it’s a hard reflex to break.”

Jonathan looked away at the mention of Cordelia. “It’s okay,” he mumbled and stood up. “I was just getting started on getting these files in order. Fred said that it needed to be done.”

Angel nodded, sipping his coffee. “Where are they?”

Jonathan explained briefly about the case they were wrapping up while Angel cut himself a slice of cake. “That’s from Andrew, by the way,” he added. “A welcome home gesture. And thanks for the job.”

“Thanks for taking care of Cordelia’s stuff and Phantom Dennis,” Angel said. “We’ll come by and clear out the spare bedroom for you guys. If you want, we can put a twin bed in there for you. We’ve got about a hundred to spare.”

Jonathan didn’t know what to say in the face of such generosity. He could barely imagine what it would be like to have his own bed again. “That would be great. Thanks.”

Angel took a bite of his cake and then stared at it, surprised. “This is amazing. Your friend Andrew made this?”

Jonathan nodded. “He also made those cookies from the other day. He likes to bake.”

“He’s good at it,” Angel said, taking another bite.

Jonathan made a noise of agreement and busied himself with putting files away. He didn’t linger over reading them anymore. Angel hung around awkwardly for a few minutes as he finished his cake but then disappeared into his office and shut the door. About forty-five minutes later, he reemerged, head cocked to the side as he listened to something.

“They’re back. Sounds like they were successful.”

Jonathan, who had just finished clearing out the Gs, turned to face the door. Sure enough, a minute later Fred, Gunn, and Andrew marched triumphantly into the lobby.

“Morning, Angel,” Fred chirped.

“Hey,” Angel said. “Everything go okay?”

“One Cuelth demon successfully captured and released on a deserted beach, happily munching on crabs and mussels,” Gunn said. “Annnnnd, here’s the check from Mrs. Patterson for ‘catching that rabid cat.’ I think by the end she had convinced herself we were with the pound.”

“It was a fierce battle between three cunning humans and a desperate, cornered demon,” Andrew added. “On the one hand, we outnumbered it. On the other hand, it had the advantage of nothing to lose. Just when we thought we had it cornered, it would slip right through our fingers like a greased up pig.”

Angel looked from Fred to Gunn, bewildered. “Did you guys need backup?”

Gunn rolled his eyes. “No, we were fine.” In an undertone that Jonathan just barely heard, he added, “Kid likes to talk things up a bit. He’s actually kinda funny. Like the most ordinary thing becomes an adventure.” He shrugged, a wistful expression playing at the corner of his eyes.

Jonathan pretended to focus on the filing but really he was watching Angel watching Andrew as the latter went through a detailed reenactment of the capture of the Cuelth demon. The vampire smiled in baffled amusement at the story, but a sadness lingered in the lines of his mouth and eyes. When Andrew finished, Angel made some encouraging comments then quickly disappeared back into his office. Fred and Gunn exchanged a look (they seemed to do that a lot) but made no comment on this, instead settling into a normal routine.

Jonathan had never worked in an office before, and that first day seemed to drag on forever. Fred left to deposit the check and on the way picked up sandwiches for lunch. Meanwhile, Jonathan continued to file and organize, now with Andrew’s help. They finished before mid-afternoon and there were still several hours left to a typical workday. Jonathan browsed through the stacks of books kept in piles all over the lobby, while Andrew disappeared to explore more of the hotel. After a few minutes, he came running back.

“Jonathan, you have got to see this kitchen,” he cried.

Exploring the kitchen took a while (it was a once fully-serviceable hotel kitchen that clearly went unused but still had plenty of hidey-holes to look at), but soon they grew bored and returned to the lobby. After a couple of hours without any calls or walk-in appointments from unsettled clients looking to get rid of a ghoul or otherworldly creatures that may be plaguing them, Fred approached Jonathan and Andrew.

“You guys can head home if you want,” she said. “Charles’ll give you a ride. The life of a private eye isn’t as glamourous as people think.” She giggled. “There’s a lot of sitting around waiting for something to happen. But don’t worry, there will be plenty of days of overtime to make up for the slow ones. Angel’s gonna put our advertisements back up and we’ll be swamped in no time.”

Jonathan shook a crick out of his neck and accepted the offer. “Come on,” he said to Andrew.

But Andrew shook his head. “Actually, if it’s okay with them, I’m going to stick around for a while. I can bus home later. I just wanted to take a closer look at some of the stuff I found in the basement.”

“That’s fine,” Fred said. “Just don’t break anything or unleash an unholy presence on the hotel - though if you do, you certainly wouldn’t be the first.”

Andrew grinned at her. “Okay! I’ll do my best.”

Jonathan was a little surprised by this, but he acquiesced readily enough. A whole afternoon with the apartment to himself - well, except for Dennis, of course. “Gunn doesn’t have to give me a ride,” he said. “I can make my way on my own.”

“Actually, I’m heading over that way myself, so it’s no trouble,” Gunn said.

Jonathan picked up a couple of books Angel said he could take home with him and grabbed his jacket, then met Gunn by the front door so they could head out.

The first few minutes of the drive were saturated with silence. “How’s Wes doing?” Gunn asked abruptly.

“Not great,” Jonathan admitted. He wasn’t going to say anything about the woman in the closet - that was long since over and had no bearing on Wesley’s current frame of mind, Jonathan hoped - but he wasn’t going to lie. “I dunno...he just always seems angry. Honestly, I’m not sure why his girlfriend keeps sticking around, but she does. I’ve seen her at his apartment a few times.”

Gunn glanced at him. “Wes has a girlfriend? What she look like?”

Jonathan shrugged. “Uh, tall? Brunette. I figured you must’ve met her before.” He tried to remember what little information he had gleaned about her. “Her name’s Lilah.”

Gunn stomped on the break even though the light was still green. A horn blasted behind them, forcing Gunn back into motion. “Lilah?” he demanded. “Lilah Morgan?”

Jonathan felt like he had made some sort of mistake, but he was lost. He had no idea what he had said wrong. “Uh, I don’t know her last name. I think she’s some sort of accountant or CEO or…”

“Or lawyer?” Gunn snarled.

“I guess.” Jonathan shifted uncomfortably.

If the silence before had been bad, now it was a hundred times worse and charged with an electricity that Jonathan was afraid would electrocute him. His hand reached for the oh-shit handle as Gunn took a turn too fast. Jonathan was relieved when they finally pulled up to Pearson Arms.

“Thanks for the lift,” he mumbled, getting out the truck.

“See ya,” Gunn said. The cloud over his expression hadn’t lifted, and when he drove off it was in a squeal of burning rubber.

“Shit,” Jonathan muttered. He shook his head, heading into the building. It wasn’t any of his business anymore, so he wasn’t going to worry about who this Lilah was or why it was such bad news that she was dating Wesley.

Jonathan opened the apartment door without having to unlock it. These days, Dennis always seemed to know when he or Andrew were home and unlocked the door for them. Very rarely did Jonathan ever need to dig his key out of his pocket. “Hey Dennis,” he greeted as he entered the front hall. Dennis swept around him in response. Jonathan was glad he seemed to be returning to normal after having kept to himself for the remainder of yesterday and early this morning.

Jonathan kicked off his shoes and went into the living room, then stood in the middle of the floor, unsure of what he felt like doing. He considered dismantling the nest; he would be getting a real bed soon, if Angel came through on his promise. On the other hand, if he took apart the nest now, he wouldn’t have anywhere to sleep until the new bed arrived unless he wanted to spend an indeterminant amount of time sharing the master bed with Andrew.

That bed belonged to them now. Fred had mentioned once ages ago that the apartment had come furnished, so the bed, although Cordelia’s in technicality, belonged really to the apartment. They had just inherited the apartment; ergo, the bed now belonged to them.

It was a really nice bed.

Jonathan felt fidgety for some reason. Maybe it was the way he had left things with Gunn regarding Wesley or maybe it was the sense of plunging into the unknown again by joining Angel’s investigator team, but he felt restless. He ran a hand through his hair and decided that a hot shower might help him relax. He would be able to take as much time as he wanted - a luxury that was very rarely afforded to him.

He stepped into the bathroom and shut the door. He turned the hot water on all the way and then turned on the cold water little by little until it was no longer scalding but still plenty hot. Pulling the tab to change from bath to shower, he stepped back out of danger of getting his clothes wet. He let the shower run for a moment as he stepped out of his clothes and left them piled haphazardly on the floor. His wallet poked up out of his pants pocket as if trying to make a bid for freedom. Jonathan kicked it out of the way and then climbed into the shower and drew the curtain shut to retain as much of the steam and heat of the water as possible.

It felt amazing. The water pounded his head and neck, loosening the muscles with the pressure and heat. Jonathan rolled his shoulders and head, working out the bigger kinks. His neck crackled with tension and his spine popped back into place. He sighed, shut his eyes, and let the water steam away his anxiety.

Jonathan ran his hands through his hair, feeling it spike up and then allowing the water to push it back down again. It was starting to get a little shaggy. He had only cut it once since coming to L.A. and he was due for another one soon. Opening his eyes again, he blinked away the water that sluiced his face and grabbed his shampoo out of the shower caddy. Washing his hair was normally a hurried, inconsequential affair, but today he took his time and let his fingers massage his scalp as he worked the gel into a lather.

This was probably the best idea he’d had in a long time. He reached down to adjust the water again, bringing more heat. He reached for his soap and carefully washed his neck, shoulders, torso, down to his belly and…

He felt a sensation stir within him. He had the time and it had been a long time since he had relieved a little tension in that particular way. The last time had been a few weeks ago - probably around the same time he got his haircut - one night when he couldn’t sleep. He thought a little masturbation might make him sleepy enough to finally get some rest. Instead, he had just compounded his discomfort with a vague sense of dirtiness and guilt at the sticky tissues he had hastily thrown in the trash. But now, there would be no evidence as it would just get washed down the drain. His cock twitched eagerly at just the thought.

Jonathan washed off the soap suds and picked up Andrew’s conditioner. Jonathan didn’t use conditioner on his hair, but shampoo or soap were a really bad idea to use on sensitive parts he had found out through trial and error back in high school. He poured a dollop onto his right hand and formed a loose grip around his cock, stroking steadily but teasingly as his mind sank into steam-soaked fantasy.

Under other circumstances, Fred would be his ideal woman: smart, pretty, with a cute laugh and a great sense of humour. But he refused to let himself think of her that way because he didn’t want to compare himself to Gunn. That was okay, though - he didn’t need to focus on a real woman to get the job done. Michelle Pfeiffer as Catwoman….the thought of her perfect body was enough to get his cock standing at attention. The way the suit hugged her every curve, the slight hint of nipple through the leather.

He closed his eyes and imagined a world where Jonathan Levinson was a name to be proud of. Where he was suave and in control and adored by thousands of people. Where Michelle Pfeiffer was not just a fantasy woman but someone he could conceivably date. She would hold onto his arm as they greeted their adoring fans at a public function. Her breast pushed up against his arm as he led her through the flashing cameras and shouting people. His cock jumped, eager for the fantasy.

He squeezed himself, urging his orgasm on faster as he got swept up in the imagined sensations. A mouth wrapped around his cock - bobbing up and down, licking and sucking. He threw his head back, letting the water cascade down his face and mix with the sweat that was building at his temples. His lips parted as he panted for breath. His muscles twitched enticingly as he thrust into his own hand, steadily coming closer to the edge.

A moan escaped his lips. He was so close, so ready. A few more strokes and he would tumble over the edge, he could feel it. In his mind, he was sinking into his partner’s body, thrusting slowly at first and then faster and faster. He was there - he was just there and he -

His arm brushed against the cold tiles of the shower and his mind whited out as he came with a cry. Legs trembling with the intensity of orgasm, he washed his semen down the drain and shut off the water. Goosebumps rose on his arms, a shiver wracking his body from head to toes. It shouldn’t have been cold enough to raise goosebumps in all that steam, and yet…

He was losing his mind, he decided. Not all cold spots were Dennis’ fault - he he definitely didn’t come at the touch of a cold sensation because it reminded him of his ghost friend. Lethargy overtook his nerves as he shoved his uneasiness away. It wasn’t Dennis. It couldn’t be. Feeling much more relaxed, Jonathan grabbed his towel, wrapped it around his waist, and darted out to the living room to find some clothes to put on.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

_ The man had close-shorn dark hair, a slightly snub nose, broad shoulders, and stood a few inches taller than Jonathan. There was something familiar about the curious glint in his eye as he gazed around them - they were in a subterranean room with just barely enough light that Jonathan could make out some sort of complex sigil or seal at their feet - and when his eyes met Jonathan’s in the deep gloom a warm smile crept across his lips and Jonathan knew - _

_ “Dennis,” he whispered. _

_ Dennis opened his mouth to say something but before he could make a single sound,  _ Jonathan woke up abruptly.

Jonathan groaned and shifted around in his bed. He had a bed now - he could hardly believe it. Angel, Fred, and Gunn had shown up just after dusk the other day with the double bed and a spare dresser in a large van Angel had borrowed from someone. Working together, it was only a matter of half an hour to move the boxes out of the second bedroom, install the bed and dresser, and then take the boxes down to the van. No more nest - the cushions had been put back onto the couch, and the blankets and pillows transferred to the new bed.

It felt like a real home.

Into the dresser went the meager collection of clothes Jonathan had accumulated over the last two and a half months. No more storing them in cardboard boxes or stacked on top of chairs. No more shoving his underwear places it wouldn’t be seen on the rare occasions someone came to visit.

A glance at the clock told him it was nearly eleven in the morning. They had been up pretty late the night before, both working on tying up various projects that had been going on for too long. Angel didn’t hold them to any set hours - in fact he probably wouldn’t even notice if they didn’t show up all day. Not that Jonathan intended to play hooky from a job he actually enjoyed. They’d had only had one small case so far, but there was a far different vibe than what Jonathan had gotten working for Wesley. Where Wes was harsh and dour more often than not, Angel was...well, dour but not harsh. He kept to himself mostly, made some encouraging comments, but there was a look of forlornness that never seemed to leave. He would often leave on his own personal errands, causing Gunn and Fred to exchange worried glances behind his back.

“He’s not dealing with his grief,” Fred said critically last night. “Cordy’s gone and he had to kick his own son out of the house for trying to kill him. That’s bound to raise a lot of emotions.”

“He’s got no purpose,” Gunn agreed. “He needs to go see Lorne in Vegas.”

Fred rolled her eyes. “You just wanna go to Vegas.”

“I’m serious,” Gunn said. “He’d never admit it but he needs Lorne to tell him what to do next. Angel’s not great with the whole ‘picking the right direction to follow’ thing.”

“Pot and kettle,” Fred informed him, but smiled to indicate she was just teasing.

“How is Lorne going to tell him what direction to follow?” Jonathan asked, curious.

“Well, you know he -” Fred started to say but then she mentally checked herself. “No, you don’t know. I forgot you never actually met Lorne before.” Jonathan looked down, chagrined; he could never tell if Fred’s frequent reminders of all the lies they had told were meant to make him feel bad or not, but they did. “He can read people’s auras and set them on their paths.”

“Huh.” That sounded almost too good to be true. A demon who could read auras. He wondered what his own aura said about him and his path or his destiny or whatever.

Now, lying in bed and wondering what his dream was trying to tell him - if anything - Jonathan seriously considered going to Las Vegas himself and tracking down Lorne. How hard would it be to find a green-skinned demon in a whole city of flashy colours and strange gimmicks?

Okay, probably really hard. Plus there was still the whole not having a car thing.

Jonathan rolled out of bed and padded into the kitchen. Andrew sat at the table, already showered and caffeinated, munching on a bagel with cream cheese. “Morning,” Jonathan greeted, grabbing a box of cereal from the cabinet.

Andrew waved his bagel in greeting. “I had a weird dream last night.” He shuddered theatrically. “Something was trying to eat me and I was running all over Sunnydale trying to escape it and ended up in The Magic Box where Ms. Calendar told me that I couldn’t return my soul for a full refund. At least I think she was talking about my soul. She may have been talking about the Perval’i onctl’Der orbs I bought from there two Christmases ago, though I don’t know how she’d know about them. Or about anything in The Magic Box.” 

Jonathan poured milk over his cereal and tried to parse through what Andrew was saying. “She was into witchcraft. The students weren’t supposed to know, but I saw some spell books on her desk once. How do you even know Ms. Calendar? I thought you never had a class with her.”

“I didn’t,” Andrew said, shifting over so that Jonathan could sit down next to him. “I don’t know why I dreamed about her.

“What was trying to eat you?” Jonathan asked. He sprinkled some sugar onto his corn flakes and took a large bite.

“I don’t know,” Andrew said. “But I think it must have been in the sewers because then Ms. Calendar said, ‘Ilk d’orn fyiek she na’ar’ which is Perval’i for ‘It eats you from the bottom up.’ What sort of monster wants to eat you starting with your toes?”

There was something vaguely reminiscent about the phrase, but Jonathan wasn’t quite awake enough to figure it out. It niggled at the back of his mind, just out of reach. He stood up to grab some coffee, trying to urge the memory forward. “It eats you from the bottom up,” he repeated. Not eats, but something like it...devours. It devours. “From beneath you it devours,” he said with a small gasp.

“If you want to add your own spin to it, I guess so,” Andrew pouted. “But the literal translation -”

“No, I...I’ve dreamt that phrase before. Sunnydale was deserted and then suddenly the ground opened up and a voice kept saying that over and over again: From beneath you it devours.”

Andrew frowned. “What do you think it means?”

Jonathan shrugged, aiming for nonchalance but now he was deeply worried. What were the odds that he and Andrew would dream about something so similar? Were their subconscious minds trying to tell them something? Maybe about returning to Sunnydale? “I don’t know. Have you had any dreams like that before?”

Andrew shook his head. “I dream about Warren sometimes, though. He tells me to do weird stuff.”

“What sort of stuff?” Jonathan asked warily.

Andrew toyed with his last bite of bagel, looking vaguely sick. “I don’t know. Just stuff. Like he wants to help us but he can’t because, you know, he can’t take on corporeal form.”

“Because he’s dead,” Jonathan said. “There’s no corporeal form to be had when you’re dead. Andrew - what are your dreams telling you to do that is so bad it’s Warren telling you to do it?”

“It’s nothing bad,” Andrew said defensively. “He wants me to go back to Sunnydale and find something called the Seal of Danzalthar. But I don’t want to go back yet.”

Jonathan felt a little unsteady. The way Andrew talked, it sounded like he had been conversing with an outside force, not his own mind. Andrew might stretch reality on occasion, but he wasn’t crazy. Was Warren actually communicating with him from beyond the grave? A ghostly presence - like Dennis, only much more sinister - that only Andrew could feel? “Any idea what the seal is or where it’s located?” he asked. He wanted to see if he could track that down first and figure out its significance.

Andrew shook his head quickly. “No idea.”

So not only was Andrew having dreams about Warren, his spectral presence was also telling Andrew about things Andrew had never heard of before. “You said Warren wants to help us...but help us do what?”

Andrew shrugged and looked down at the table. “Go home again and not be in trouble anymore. You’d be able to see your parents and I’d see my aunt and brother again.”

Jonathan relaxed. That was a perfectly Andrew desire. He had probably read about the Seal in a book somewhere and the name got stuck in his unconscious mind, coming forth in a dream about a dead friend. Jonathan made a mental note to ask Angel if he’d ever heard of the Seal of Danzalthar before, maybe even had a book that talked about it at length. The other possibility would be Wesley, but he had not been in contact since the night he had fired them.

Jonathan gave what he hoped was a reassuring look to Andrew. “I guess minds are kinda funny, and Warren was our friend for a long time.” 

“Yeah, Andrew agreed, but he wouldn’t quite meet Jonathan’s eye. “Do you think he’s okay? I mean, he’s dead but...do you think his soul’s at rest or whatever?”

“I hope so,” Jonathan said. Not due to any desire to wish Warren well, but mostly because a restless Warren could only spell trouble for them. He didn’t mention the dream he’d had weeks ago that also bore Warren’s face. If pressed for the details now, he would be forced to admit he could barely remember them. He thought briefly about keeping a dream journal, but decided that some of his dreams were too awkward to write down.

Speaking of… “Where’s Dennis, by the way? He usually shows himself by now.”

Andrew cocked his head, tension leaving his shoulders immediate at the change of subject. “He was in here when I was making my breakfast, then I thought he went into your room. Didn’t he wake you up?”

Jonathan blinked. Technically speaking, he sort of had. But that was just a dream, and Jonathan could definitely tell the difference between dream and reality. “No, he wasn’t in my room when I woke up.”

“Huh. That’s weird. Maybe he’s taking a ghost nap,” Andrew said, popping the last bit of bagel into his mouth. The bite was slightly too big and his cheeks bulged as he chewed and swallowed it down. “Have you ever thought about what it would be like to be a god?”

Jonathan frowned. Even when he did the spell that made him famous, he hadn’t thought about having godlike powers - though maybe infallibility was closes. “Not really. You’d probably be pretty cut off from humanity. It would be weird.” He wondered what made Andrew ask such a strange question, but he had learned from countless conversations that Andrew’s mind did not work like most people’s.

“Yeah,” Andrew said thoughtfully. He didn’t elaborate any further and Jonathan did not press for more information.

\---

“Seal of Danzalthar?” Angel repeated later that day when Jonathan finally had a moment alone with him. “I don’t think so. What’s it supposed to be?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Jonathan admitted. “I think Andrew may have read the name in one of your books, but I don’t know. It could be just nonsense.”

Angel frowned. “I’m not really the person you should be asking. I’m not really the big researcher - I’m more the person you tell what the demon’s weaknesses are and I take them down. Fred might know, though. She can read over 700 words per minute with perfect comprehension.”

Jonathan stared at him, dumbfounded. “That’s insane.” 

“Yeah,” Angel said. He sounded like a proud father. “She was a physicist before she got sucked into a demon dimension.”

“Which demon dimension?” Jonathan asked, knowing Andrew would want to know.

“Pylea,” Angel said. “Not a very friendly place.”

_ They should put that on their license plates _ , Jonathan thought but did not say out loud. He was not yet comfortable enough with Angel to make smart comments like that, especially with Angel’s sometimes-overbearing manner. Jonathan was never really sure where he stood with the vampire, though Fred and Gunn treated him and Andrew both very kindly and friendly.

Angel departed in the early evening, just as the sun was starting to set. Tall buildings cast long shadows, and he stuck mostly to alleyways and corners to avoid the dwindling sunlight. At least, that’s what he told a worried Fred as he shook her off, shrugging into his long coat. “I’ll be careful,” he promised. He strode up the lobby steps to the front door, taking the stairs two at a time and disappearing into the warm Los Angeles twilight.

“Come on,” Fred said to Gunn.

“Where we goin’?” Gunn asked, though he was already moving towards her, ready to do as she asked.

“We’re going to follow Angel and try to talk some sense into him. He’s going to watch Connor again, and this is just plain unhealthy. He needs to get back on track to...to whatever it is that will get him to stop mopin’ and drivin’ us crazy,” Fred replied. “Y’all stay here and mind the store? When you leave, just lock the front door - the machine will pick up any messages.”

“Sure thing,” Jonathan assured her.

They left, and Jonathan sorted through stacks of books searching for some mention of the Seal, but came up with nothing. Around 8:30, the phone rang.

Jonathan and Andrew glanced at each other. They hadn’t ever answered the phone before, and had only heard Fred do so thus far.

Jonathan reached for the receiver, half hoping the machine would pick up before he did, took a deep breath, and plucked up the phone. “Angel Investigations.” There was something else he was supposed to say, but he couldn’t remember. His mouth went dry.

“It’s me,” Fred said. A lot of background noise that sounded like wind suggested she was calling from the Plymouth and possibly going rather high speeds. “We’re going to Vegas - hopefully we’ll be back tomorrow night.”

“What if we get a case?” Jonathan asked. He didn’t want to turn down business, but there was no way he and Andrew could handle a whole case on their own.

“Try to get them to hold on as long as possible. All we need is to see Lorne, get a reading, and then drive back tomorrow night to avoid the sun. We’ll try to drive back tonight if there’s time, but just in case. It’s a four hour drive, and I don’t know if we try to drive back after we see Lorne we won’t end up with a pile of ashes for a boss.” There was a muffled sound in the background that may have been Angel yelling “Hey!”

“It’s true,” Fred said, her mouth pulled briefly away from the receiver. Then she returned to Jonathan. “Just don’t burn the place down is all we ask. And if any lawyers come sniffing around, call us immediately.”

“Okay,” Jonathan promised. He hung up, and not two minutes later, the phone rang again. “Hello?” Jonathan answered, wondering if Fred had forgotten something.

“Uh,” an uncertain voice said on the other line. “I think I have the wrong number.”

“Oh, uh, sorry...are you looking for Angel Investigations?” Jonathan asked.

“Yes!” The person sounded relieved. “Thank god, are you Angel?”

“No,” Jonathan said. “Um, he’s out of town right now. But he should be back tomorrow night at the latest. I can take down your information and what you need, and we’ll get back to you as -”

“No, I’m sorry but this is an emergency,” the person interrupted. “I really need to get this taken care of immediately.”

Shit shit shit shit shit. “I...I don’t….”

“Isn’t there anyone there who can help?”

Jonathan rubbed his forehead. He didn’t know what else to do. “No, I’m sorry. But...I have a phone number for someone who might be able to.”

“Please,” the man said. “Anything. We’re desperate.”

“Do you have a pen ready?” Jonathan asked. When the man made an affirmative sound, Jonathan recited the number where he could reach Diana.

“Thank you so much,” the man said, then hung up.

That could have gone better, Jonathan thought.

\---

“Are we going home?” Andrew asked around eleven. Jonathan looked up from the book he was reading and glanced at the clock. It wasn’t quite time for the last bus of the night, but it was getting close. Then again, Jonathan now knew where Gunn kept the spare key to his truck, and Jonathan and Andrew were free to borrow it.

“You can go if you want to,” Jonathan said. “I’m going to stay here and keep reading.”

“Are you still looking for the Seal of Danzalthar?”

Jonathan nodded. “I want to know where you saw the name before and if there really is a connection to Sunnydale.”

“Don’t you think you’re going a little overboard?” Andrew asked. He sounded worried. “The books will still be here tomorrow. It’s not like you have to find it right now. You should sleep.”

“I’m not tired,” Jonathan admitted. It was true; for some reason, he felt wide awake, and there was something niggling at the back of his head. Like there was something he had forgotten. He felt like if he went home right now, he would miss it.

“I’ll stay and help, then. I’ll go make coffee,” Andrew said, disappearing in the direction of the enormous kitchen. Jonathan tried to point out there was a coffeemaker right beside the lobby desk, but Andrew was already gone. Jonathan was grateful that Andrew had decided to stick around. He may have energy to spare tonight, but actually getting through the huge stack of books Jonathan had selected was taking more time than he had anticipated.

When Andrew returned with coffee in hand - dark and bitter for Jonathan, sugary and practically white for himself - he plopped down in the seat next to Jonathan, picked up the nearest book, and began to read. After a moment he looked up again. “If you wanted to help a friend but it meant you had to hurt them first, do you think that’s okay?”

Jonathan picked up another book. “I don’t know. It would probably be better to talk to them first. There might be a solution that doesn’t involve hurting them.”

“What if you can’t, though?” Andrew persisted. “What if you’re Luke and they’re Vader, and you have to fight them a little to bring them back to the Light?”

Jonathan gave Andrew his full attention. “Is this about Angel?”

“No,” Andrew said, fidgeting a little.

Jonathan cast his mind around. “Is this about Warren?”

This time Andrew would not meet his eye. “It was just a dream, right? Minds are kinda funny.” Jonathan’s words from that morning, echoed back now.

“Right,” Jonathan agreed. “Yeah. Sometimes they make you see what you think you want to see, you know?”

Andrew nodded. Jonathan wanted to ask for more specific information, but Andrew pulled his book closer and the conversation was clearly over.

\---

Jonathan came out of his haze of study and looked around him. He needed to pee so badly, and his stomach was letting Jonathan know quite vocally why it was a bad idea to drink lots of coffee and not eat any food. Andrew had fallen asleep about an hour ago, curled up in Angel’s office chair. Jonathan rubbed his eyes; he wasn’t sure he would be able to drive Gunn’s truck home tonight. He could call home, leave a message for Dennis about where they were, rouse Andrew, and go sleep in a couple of rooms upstairs. Angel surely wouldn’t mind. They had phoned around one in the morning to let Jonathan know they were on their way back tonight, but they probably wouldn’t be home until dawn. A glance at the clock informed Jonathan that it was now just after three.

He stood up, shaking out stiff muscles. No sign yet of the Seal of Danzalthar, but Jonathan wasn’t quite ready to give up. He’d tackle it again tomorrow, time permitting. Stepping out of the office and into the lobby, he started to head towards the bathroom -

And promptly froze in his tracks.

Standing in the middle of the lobby, looking confused and a little scared, was Cordelia Chase.

Her hair was short and blonde, and she wore a beautiful white robe over a yellow dress, but there was no mistaking those eyes or that birthmark on her cheek. Cordelia. In the middle of the Hyperion. He’d think he was hallucinating except he was pretty sure his imagination wouldn’t have her staring at him as if she’d never seen him before in her life.

“Who are you? Where am I? Why did you bring me here?”

Jonathan’s mouth worked soundlessly for a moment before it gained traction again. “It’s - it’s me. Jonathan. From high school?” No recognition showed in her expression. “In Sunnydale?” Nothing. “You know, your hometown? Hellmouth in the library, Homecoming...Prom?”

Cordelia glared at him. He took a step towards her, and she immediately retreated five steps backwards.

Jonathan held up his hands as if approaching a wild animal. “O-okay. I’m sorry. Are you hurt at all?”

Cordelia reached up to touch her hair, then felt along her face and neck and arms. “I don’t think so,” she said warily. “Except for the fact that I don’t know what I’m doing here or who you are or what you want with me.” Her voice rose with every word.

Jonathan’s mind scrambled for the right words that would help. “What do you remember?” he asked, hoping that would open up some avenue towards what was going on here.

Cordelia looked down at her hands as if they might hold the answers. “I remember...white sand. Wind. Waves splashing against rocks. A beach? But nothing else. I - I don’t even know my name.”

Amnesia. Jonathan’s eyes widened; this was like one of the biggest cliches in science fiction, and yet this was real life. Could this really be happening? Was he having a very vivid dream right now? “You’re Cordelia Chase. We went to school together.”

This time when Jonathan took a step forward, Cordelia stayed put, although she still looked at him warily. “Why are we in a hotel?”

“You work here,” Jonathan said. He hoped the others would get here soon, but even if they sped the whole way home, it would still take them almost two hours to arrive.

“I work for a hotel?” Cordelia demanded. “I may not know my name, mister, but I’m pretty sure I’ve never worked for a hotel in my entire life.”

Well that was something at least. “No, you - It’s a long story but you work for a private investigator firm that uses this hotel as their office.”

Cordelia stared at him as if he were crazy, which honestly he was wondering right now if he actually was. “Private investigators...working out of a hotel?”

Jonathan bit his lip. “Yes.”

“Jonathan?” Andrew came out of the office, rubbing his eyes sleepily. “Are they back?” He stopped dead next to Jonathan as he finally noticed the person standing in the lobby. “Oh my god, is that Cordy?”

“Cordy?” Cordelia repeated skeptically.

“That’s your nickname,” Jonathan reassured her. “Your friends call you that.”

She waved a finger between herself and Andrew. “And we’re...friends?”

Andrew looked at Jonathan, who mouthed “amnesia” at him. Andrew frowned, either not understanding the lip-reading or the implication. Cordelia stared back and forth between them. “What the hell is going on?” she demanded.

Jonathan wished fervently that he had the answer to that question. “I’m sorry, Cordelia. Your friends will be back in a couple of hours. We’re sort of just...minding the store until they return. You and I went to school together, but we haven’t seen each other for a few years. But you do have friends here who are going to be so happy to see you. You’ve been away for a while.”

“How long?” Cordelia asked.

How long had she been gone? “A few months,” he said. “Your friends were really worried about you.” He jiggled his foot slightly, trying to get his bladder to hold on for just another minute.

Cordelia gave him a suspicious look. “You keep saying that. Aren’t you my friend? Is he?” She pointed at Andrew.

“That’s Andrew,” Jonathan informed her. “You’ve never met before just now - at least I don’t think you did.” Andrew shook his head, confirming Jonathan’s assumption. “We weren’t friends in school and like I said we haven’t seen each other for a few years. The people you work with, though….they’ve known you for years and they’ve been so worried about you.”

Cordelia seemed to be relaxing somewhat. Maybe it was the frank honesty with which Jonathan spoke, or maybe something in her was remembering her surroundings - whatever it was, her shoulders loosened and she stopped holding herself away from them. “When are they getting here?”

Jonathan glanced at his watch. 3:30 in the morning. “A couple hours, I think. They are driving home from Las Vegas.”

Cordelia raised an eyebrow. “Las Vegas? Yeah they definitely sound like they were worried about me.”

“You were gone for three months,” Jonathan repeated, a little defensive on Angel’s behalf. 

“Besides, they went to Las Vegas to figure out what to do without you,” Andrew piped up.

“From what?” Cordelia asked. “A fortune teller? Are these guys really private investigators?”

“No, from a demon who reads people’s auras,” Andrew said.

There was a beat of silence. Cordelia looked at Jonathan. “Did he just say ‘demon?’”

“Yes,” Jonathan said. At this rate, he was pretty sure he would never get to the bathroom.

“A demon who reads people’s auras.” There was something scarily flat in her voice.

“Yes,” Jonathan said again. He glanced at the exit, wondering if she would try to make a run for it because she was clearly alone in a big hotel with two crazy people. At least, that was how it must have seemed to her.

“I want to go home,” Cordelia informed him firmly. “I’ll see my ‘friends’ tomorrow. Or, you know,  _ never  _ if they’re the sort of people who go to aura-reading demons.”

Jonathan’s heart clenched. If that was her reaction to demons, then what would she have to say about an overenthusiastic ghost who would be unendingly happy to see her? “Your stuff is here at the hotel. Once your friends figured you weren’t coming home, they packed it all up and moved it here for convenience.”

“Why didn’t they think I was coming home?” Cordelia demanded shrilly, her shoulders tensing again. “Did they think I was dead? Why would they keep my stuff if they thought I was dead?”

Jonathan opened his mouth but closed it again. He didn’t want to try to explain everything he had learned in the last three months - especially not when Cordelia was already pretty flighty. “Look, Cordelia… Everything is going to be okay?” he tried. “But I don’t have the answers you’re looking for. If you can wait two more hours, Angel and the others will be home and they can explain everything.”

He stepped around her to head for the bathroom, but she cried out, “Where are you going?”

“To the bathroom,” he said, exasperated. He blushed. “I’ll be back in a minute. Please don’t run away.”

In the bathroom, Jonathan took as long as he feasibly could, running his hands under the hot tap water to try to control the shaking. He was way out of his element. He should call Angel to let him know what was going on, but how was that revelation supposed to go? ‘Hey Angel try to get home as soon as possible, your friend is back from being a higher power but she has amnesia and we’re only making things worse by talking about aura-reading demons see you soon’?

When Jonathan returned to the lobby, Andrew had disappeared and Cordelia was peering into the office. “Where’s Andrew?”

Cordelia whirled around, startled even though Jonathan hadn’t been trying to sneak up behind her. “He went to make tea,” she said. “I hope that’s not a euphemism for summoning an aura-reading demon.”

Jonathan understood her hiding behind sarcasm, but that didn’t mean he appreciated it at nearly four in the morning. “No, you can only summon those in Las Vegas,” he retorted. “Look, forget about the demon, okay? You lived and worked in a crazy world, but it’s no crazier than what we grew up in. Sunnydale was the capital of Crazyland. We can take you to your apartment if you really want, but like I said your stuff won’t be there. Or we can try to find which room your stuff is in, but I have no idea where to even begin searching. Or we can wait for your friends to come home and see what they have to say.”

Cordelia glared at him. “Is this how you treat all your amnesiac clients?”

Jonathan shrugged and plopped down on the nearest seat. “I guess so. You’re the first one I’ve encountered.”

Cordelia cautiously came over and sat down next to him. “You might want to work on your approach. Maybe make more with the sympathy and less with the demon talk.”

“Hey, that was Andrew,” Jonathan protested. “I was going for full sympathy.” They sat in only slightly awkward silence for a moment before Jonathan asked, “Are you hungry?”

Cordelia didn’t answer for a while. She appeared to be giving the question serious consideration. “I could eat,” she said at last.

“I’ll go find some food. The last thing I need is more caffeine on an empty stomach.”

This time, he didn’t feel bad leaving Cordelia all alone. She no longer seemed about ready to jump out of her own skin, though Jonathan could hardly blame her if she did. He couldn’t imagine what it must be like to not remember anything or anyone around you, including yourself. How scared she must be - how frustrated. Jonathan took the most direct route to the kitchen, but he didn’t encounter Andrew along the way. Nor was he in the kitchen proper, though the hot kettle on the stove spoke to his recent presence. In the fridge, Jonathan was able to find some leftover Chinese food. He hoped Cordelia liked cold mushu pork, chicken and broccoli, and fried rice. He grabbed the containers and three plates, and headed back to the lobby.

When he returned, Andrew was attempting to hypnotize Cordelia in order to bring her memories back to the surface of her mind. Cordelia looked puzzled but not scared, so Jonathan left the food within their reach and disappeared into the office to call Fred’s cell phone.

Fred answered after four rings, just before the voicemail switched on. “Jonathan?”

Jonathan swallowed. He really had no idea what to say. “Yeah, it’s me. Listen, something weird is happening here.”

“Are y’all okay?” Fred demanded instantly.

“We’re fine,” he assured her. “It’s...it’s Cordelia. She’s back.”

There was a long moment of silence. “What do you mean ‘back’?”

“She’s here. In the lobby of the hotel. She doesn’t remember who she is or anything from her past. I figured I should give you guys some warning,” Jonathan said.

“Okay, thanks,” Fred said, her voice sounding worried and subdued. “We’ll be home in about half an hour.”

“We’ll be here,” Jonathan said. He hung up, then went back into the lobby. “Any luck?”

Andrew and Cordelia had abandoned their efforts in favour of tea and Chinese food. Andrew shook his head. “I don’t think I was doing it right,” he admitted. “I made you a plate.” He held out a plate with a mixture of leftover foods.

“Thanks,” Jonathan said, accepting the food and sitting down as close to them as possible without dragging the wheely chair out from behind the lobby desk.

“Did you call Dennis?” Andrew asked.

“No, I called Fred,” Jonathan said. “They’re going to be back in thirty minutes or so. Faster, I bet, once Fred tells Angel what I told her.” He bit his lip. Should he give Dennis a heads up? He would want to know that Cordelia’s back, and that Jonathan and Andrew were fine but would probably not be home tonight.

They ate in silence for a while, each person lost in their own thoughts. Jonathan picked at his food; although he knew he should eat, he didn’t have much of an appetite. He speared a piece of pork and held it in the air like it could give him advice on what to do with an amnesiac acquaintance. 

“So, you guys haven’t murdered me yet,” Cordelia said bluntly. “I’m going to take that as a good sign and ask - what’s with all the weapons everywhere?”

“This isn’t your typical run-of-the-mill private investigation firm,” Jonathan admitted. “You guys fight demons and stuff. But only the bad ones. There are also good demons.”

“Like aura-reading ones in Las Vegas,” Cordelia said.

“Exactly.”

“And we grew up with all this crazy crap?”

“Yup,” Jonathan said. “We lived on a Hellmouth.”

“You should tell her stories about Sunnydale,” Andrew suggested. “Maybe that will jog some of her memories.”

“I’d rather wait for the others to get here first,” Jonathan said uneasily. He wasn’t sure Cordelia would remember the same Sunnydale he did.

“Okay, so demons we got,” Cordelia said. “What else? Fairies, ogres, vampires? Werewolves? The Blob?”

Jonathan raised an eyebrow. “You don’t remember your own name, but you know The Blob?”

Cordelia glared at him. “Don’t ask me how this amnesia thing works.”

“No blobs,” Andrew said. “But yes to werewolves and vampires. In fact -”

Before Andrew could continue what he was about to say - before Jonathan had to think up some convincing reason to stop Andrew from saying what Jonathan thought he was about to say - the front doors burst open and Angel, Fred, and Gunn rushed in. Cordelia and Jonathan both leapt to their feet: Cordelia to scramble away from this new invasion, Jonathan to try to head them off. He couldn’t believe they had gotten home so fast, but he had a sneaking suspicion that as soon as Angel heard Cordelia was back, he’d sped home at double the legal speed limit.

“Cordelia!” Angel cried, stopping short upon seeing her. “Cordelia, do you remember me?”

Cordelia watched him warily. “No. Should I?”

Angel visibly sagged in disappointment. “I’m your - your friend.”

Cordelia seemed to hear the same hesitation in Angel’s declaration that Jonathan did. She cocked her head to the side and stared at him suspiciously. “Friend?”

“Well...yeah. A-and employer?” Angel said.

“And that’s it,” Cordelia said in a tone so flat it rivalled Kansas.

Angel was saved from having to respond by the telephone ringing. “I’ll get it,” Jonathan said, ducking behind the lobby desk. His relief to not witness the awkwardness between Cordelia and Angel outweighed any residual nervousness about the telephone. “Angel Investigations,” he stammered into the receiver.

A man on the other end grunted in surprise. “You really do keep odd hours, don’t you? I figured I’d get the machine, but I’m glad you answered - this is a real emergency. It’s Murray - from the spa. That demon broad is back. You gotta come take care of it because this time it’s pregnant and about to spew little demons all over the place.”

“We’ll, uh...we’ll be right there,” Jonathan mumbled, then hung up. He jotted down the details to hand to Fred. As he slipped her the paper, she lingered for a moment.

“We have a complication,” she whispered. “We brought Lorne back with us. We figured it’d be best if he hung back in the garden until we were able to figure out how deep a hole we’re in.”

“It’s okay,” Jonathan said quickly. “She knows Lorne’s a good demon.”

Fred’s eyes lit up slightly - the first sign of hope. “She remembers about demons and stuff?”

“Not really,” Jonathan said. “But Andrew mentioned something. I think it made her feel better that we were honest rather than trying to hide anything from her. Just...maybe we won’t mention the vampire thing just yet.”

“Good plan,” Fred whispered. “We’ll send Lorne in, but maybe have him wait a few more minutes so you can give her some warning.”

She motioned for Gunn to follow her out the door. He seemed hesitant to leave Cordelia - he hadn’t said a single word since walking through the door, but there was a look of strained worry in his eyes that refused to go away.

“Hey, Cordelia,” Jonathan said, returning to the main conversation, which had stuttered to a halt. “Uh, remember the aura-reading demon we mentioned earlier? Apparently he’s waiting outside until he can come in and you won’t freak out.”

“Y-you told her about the aura-reading - I mean you told her about Lorne?” Angel asked at the same time Cordelia frowned and said, “Is it going to read my aura?”

“I don’t know,” Jonathan muttered, a little cross at them for both pouncing on him at once. “It seemed like a good idea.”

“‘He’ not ‘it,’” Andrew added, addressing Cordelia.

“I’m not sure I’m ready for this,” Cordelia admitted. She looked a little shaky. “Can I see my stuff now?”

Angel looked at Jonathan, who blinked back, unaware what he was supposed to say. “Sure,” Angel said. “We, uh...none of it is really organised, but we put it all in one of the rooms upstairs. I’ll show you up there.”

“Thanks,” Cordelia said quietly, letting him take the lead. She waved a silent goodbye to Jonathan and Andrew as she ascended the stairs.

The lobby was eerily silent in the wake of their departure. “What do we do now?” Andrew wondered out loud.

“I don’t know,” Jonathan said, rubbing his eyes. The hour caught up with him, and he felt absolutely drained. “Find a way to get home, I guess.”

At that moment, a very dapper humanoid demon with green skin entered the lobby, looking around timidly. His stance straightened when all he saw were Jonathan and Andrew. “Where’s Cordy?”

“She went upstairs to her room,” Andrew said, gazing at the demon - Lorne - with unmasked adoration.

“She really doesn’t remember anything?” Lorne whistled quietly. “Whew. That’s quite the turn of events.”

“You can say that again,” Andrew agreed.

Lorne smiled reassuringly - whether he was reassuring Andrew or himself was hard to determine. “Well, we’ll get her fixed up in no time and everything will be back to normal. Are you two the gentlemen Fred told me are subletting Cordy’s apartment?”

“Yes,” Jonathan said.

“Hey, howsabout I give you a ride home. Fred and Gunn took the car, but I suppose it won’t kill me to be seen driving Gunn’s travesty of a truck for one night.”

“You have a driver’s license?” Andrew asked. Jonathan couldn’t blame him his curiosity; how could a person looking the way Lorne looked go into a regular DMV and take a driving test?

“Well...in a manner of speaking, no,” Lorne said. “But I’ve never been pulled over before. I think it must be the horns.” He raised his fedora slightly to show off two short, red horns poking out of his temples.

“A ride home would be great if you don’t mind,” Jonathan said.

“Aren’t we going to stick around and make sure Cordy’s okay?” Andrew asked.

“She’ll be fine,” Jonathan insisted. “She’s got her friends looking out for her now. We’ll come back tomorrow at the normal time.”

“Okay, but we’re supposed to not be doing illegal things anymore and it’s illegal to ride in an automobile with someone who -”

“I’ll drive us home,” Jonathan said. “And Lorne can drive the truck back. Uh, if you don’t mind, that is, Lorne.”

“Lead the way, my little lambkins,” Lorne said, gesturing for them to exit before him. Jonathan had never been called a lambkin by a stranger before, but then again tonight was a bizarre night all around, so maybe in retrospect it wasn’t all that odd.

Now he just had to figure out how to break the news to Dennis that Cordelia was back.


	14. Chapter 14

In retrospect, Dennis did not react the way Jonathan expected him to.

Jonathan had anticipated unbridled delight at the news; instead Dennis’ presence seemed to almost shrink somehow, even before Jonathan mentioned the amnesia. Jonathan felt a little helpless and small himself in the fact of Dennis’ subdued emotions. He wanted to find out if Dennis was okay, but he wasn’t sure how to ask without things potentially getting emotional, which would only lead to awkwardness. Plus, he was exhausted. It was nearly five in the morning, and the dark sky was starting to turn light grey.

“Let me know if you need anything,” Jonathan said, knowing how hollow and trite it sounded. Then he collapsed on his bed and didn’t move for several hours.

Pounding on the front door woke Jonathan from an uneasy sleep at around 10 AM. Jonathan stared around himself, confused and flustered before the pounding sounded once more and Dennis sent a blast of cold air prodding Jonathan into sliding off the bed.

“I’m going, I’m going,” he informed the ghost. He sounded grumpy but he felt nothing but concern as he stood on his tiptoes to peer through the spyhole. A rather distorted Cordelia stood on the other end, looking nervous and uncomfortable.

Jonathan fumbled the locks open. “Cordelia? Is everything okay?”

Cordelia looked at him cautiously. Jonathan suddenly felt self-conscious that he was still wearing the clothes from last night - had in fact been wearing them for over twenty-four hours and they were starting to look the worse for wear. He stood back to let her come into the front hall, which she did though her eyes still looked strained.

“Things are really weird at that place,” she said. She had changed from her dress and was now wearing a green shirt and tan pants. “The big guy with the coat keeps acting funny and he’s obviously hiding something from me which is, you know,  _ so  _ helpful when I can’t remember even where I live or what my middle name is.”

“You don’t have a middle name,” Jonathan supplied immediately.

Cordelia glared at him. “Thanks. That’s helpful too.”

“Sorry. Uh the big guy with the coat is Angel,” Jonathan said.

Cordelia held up her hands. “I know. I know, okay? I just...I was looking through some of my stuff and I found my yearbook from senior year. I saw you in it. And I saw a framed picture of me and - and Angel and some other guy I have no memory of. And another picture of us and some other people and I was holding a baby.” She looked at Jonathan, a certain wildness in her eyes. “Did I have a baby? Where is it?”

“You didn’t have a baby,” Jonathan assured her quickly. “That was Angel’s son.”

“If I didn’t have a kid, then what are these stretch marks from?” Cordelia demanded, lifting her shirt slightly to show off disfigured skin around her belly.

“I don’t know,” Jonathan replied honestly. “I haven’t seen you in three years. But I do know you never had a baby.”

“And I have a scar in the middle of my stomach that goes straight through me out my back. Did someone stab me?” Cordelia asked. “Do I have the sort of life where I get stabbed regularly?!”

Finally, something Jonathan could answer. “No! That happened in high school. You fell in an abandoned building and, uh, sort of landed on a rebar.”

“‘Landed on a rebar,’” Cordelia repeated.

“Yeah,” Jonathan said. “You, uh… You got better.”

If Cordelia got the Monty Python reference, she didn’t react. She looked around her at the apartment. She seemed moderately calmer now, though still a little off-balance. “I wish I remembered this place. It seems nice. I got the address from a bill that was in my desk, took a credit card that had my name on it, and called a cab. Couldn’t find the key, though.”

“Fred has the spare,” Jonathan told her. He suddenly remembered that Wesley also had a copy, which in turn made him realise that nobody had probably told Wes that Cordelia was back. He wasn’t sure if he should try to contact Wesley or not. Surely someone would eventually, right? “Uh, can I get you anything?”

“I could use some water, thanks,” Cordelia said. She ventured into the living room while Jonathan went to pour her some water from the tap.

“There were these ninja guys all dressed in black,” Cordelia told him when he brought her the water. “And the big - I mean, Angel said they were lawyers. Can you believe that? Lawyers who try to kidnap you for no reason. Sure, that sounds completely sane.”

Jonathan sat down on the couch. Cordelia followed suit, putting a small amount of distance between them. “I don’t know what’s with the lawyers,” Jonathan admitted. “They keep mentioning them but never really explain what the deal is. I get the feeling they’re not ordinary lawyers.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Cordelia took a drink of water and set the glass down on the end table. “I just want to know what’s going on. Angel and the others only ever speak in half-truths and riddles and it’s driving me nuts. They keep going on and on about ‘when you’re better’ or ‘you’ll remember in time’ but I don’t want to wait for that. I just want the truth, you know?”

Jonathan nodded. “Yeah, I know. But I’m the wrong guy to be asking for the truth. I barely know what’s going on half the time.”

“Yeah, but at least you didn’t lie to me,” Cordelia said. “I mean you probably didn’t even know that Angel - get this - is a  _ vampire _ .”

“You don’t say,” Jonathan mumbled, wishing he had his own glass of water to hide behind right now.

Cordelia glared at him. “You  _ did  _ know. Great. The one person I thought wasn’t lying to me turns out you are.”

“I didn’t lie,” Jonathan said. “I just...didn’t mention it.”

Cordelia frowned. “Now that I come to think of it, it wasn’t even you who told me about demons. It was that other guy - Andrew.” She stood up. “He’s the one I should be talking to. Where is he?”

“Cordelia,” Jonathan said, jumping up and grabbing her arm. She raised an eyebrow at him and he immediately let go. “Sorry. Have you slept at all since you got back?”

“I have no memory of who I am and I just found out that I live in a world of demons and oh yeah my boss is one of them. No, I haven’t slept,” Cordelia said.

“You can use my bed, if you don’t mind that I haven’t changed the sheets.” He shrugged helplessly. “Getting some rest might make things clearer.”

“I’m not really sure I want things to be any clearer,” Cordelia grumbled, but she closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Fine. You’re right. I could use some sleep.”

Jonathan led her into his...no, the spare bedroom. This was, first and foremost, Cordelia’s apartment and he had no claim on any of it. Not legally. “Do you need anything? A shirt to sleep in?” Cordelia Chase borrowing his clothes… A fantasy that would have sent his high school self into several heights of ecstasy.

Cordelia looked him over, probably mentally gauging what size he wore. Jonathan could feel his cheeks heating up. “I’ll be fine. Thanks.” She sounded sincere enough that Jonathan blushed again. “It’s cold in here.”

Jonathan was so used to the almost-perpetual chill that he had forgotten how unusual it would seem to an outsider. He knew there would be no prying Dennis away from Cordelia right now, though. “The thermostat doesn’t really work in this room. Do you want another blanket?”

“No, thanks,” she said. “It feels kind of nice. Comforting.” She frowned, perplexed by the idea that cold could be comforting, but she didn’t seem particularly distressed so Jonathan didn’t comment.

“Sleep well,” he said, shutting the door behind him. “Take good care of her, Dennis,” he whispered quietly, though he knew Dennis would do his best without being told.

\---

By the time Jonathan left for the hotel in the early afternoon, Cordelia was still asleep and Andrew had finally made an appearance. Jonathan had already phoned the hotel to let them know Cordelia was safe and being looked after. After much deliberation he also called Wesley’s cell phone and left a brief message saying that Cordelia was back. His phone rang a minute later, Wesley’s number on the caller ID. Jonathan let it go to voicemail.

“Now tell me something I don’t know,” Wesley’s voice said wryly before the click signalled the end of the message.

Jonathan erased it immediately.

He thought about staying home so that Cordelia would have a familiar face around when she woke up but hanging around the apartment for an unknown number of hours did not sound like something he could handle on not enough sleep. Andrew assured him he would stay home and not overwhelm Cordelia with too much oversharing and he would bring her to the hotel as soon as she said she was comfortable with returning.

“How is she?” Angel asked the moment Jonathan walked through the door. He was pacing around the lobby but as soon as he saw Jonathan, he made a beeline for him and grabbed his shoulder. “Did you leave her alone?”

“Andrew’s with her,” Jonathan said, wincing at Angel’s grip. “She’s scared and confused but determined, I guess. She was sleeping when I left.”

Angel nodded distractedly. He went back to pacing around the lobby.

“That seems good for business,” Jonathan murmured to Gunn as he passed him on the way to the coffee pot. Gunn snorted, sipping at his own mug of steaming goodness.

“Restless vampires are a huge draw this time of year,” Gunn retorted.

“Hey,” Angel protested, pausing in his tireless rounds. “I’m not restless, I just...have a lot of energy.”

Jonathan blushed; he had forgotten about sensitive vampire hearing. He concentrated on pouring his coffee, though he noticed that Angel’s pacing slowed down considerably. Eventually he stopped and came behind the lobby counter.

“Did she say anything? Anything that might help us figure out what’s going on and how we can get her memory back?” Angel asked.

“She said she was tired of people lying to her,” Jonathan said. “She just wants the truth.”

Angel sighed. “The truth is too much to take in all at once. Hey welcome home, you were a higher being for a while, but now that you’re back on earth you’re probably just a regular demon again. Add to that fighting demons and vampires - which hey your boss is one of those - and lawyers from Hell - literally - and every other thing that drops into our laps around here. I don’t even know what to tell her about Connor.”

Jonathan didn’t say anything. He took a long drink of coffee, thinking things over. As someone who had been forced to pick up pieces of what was going on here and there over the last three months, Jonathan honestly wasn’t sure which would be worse: finding things out the way he and Andrew had or learning about it all at once. Cordelia had the added disadvantage of having to relearn about herself too.

“Lorne’s looking into memory spells,” Fred informed him. “But first he needs to do a reading on her to see what exactly is going on in her head. She wasn’t really feeling up to it last night.”

Jonathan nodded. He’d see what he could drum up too; the Seal of Danzalthar would have to wait for now.

“Thanks for looking after her,” Angel said. He looked a little uncomfortable; Jonathan was honestly right there with him. “I’m glad she has someone from Sunnydale she can turn to.”

Jonathan shrugged and took his coffee into the office to grab a couple of books at random and then set up a workstation at Cordelia’s desk. He had just opened the first book to see if it had anything useful when the front door of the hotel burst open and Wesley strode in.

“Cordelia is in trouble,” he announced before anyone could react to his presence. “Wolfram and Hart know she is back and are planning to extract her. Before the sun goes down tonight.”

Angel stared at him, suspicious but open. “How do you know that?”

“I have it on very good authority,” Wesley informed him.

“Would that good authority be Lilah Morgan?” Gunn demanded.

“Charles,” Fred admonished quietly, but Wesley remained unperturbed.

“They know where she is,” Wesley said. “And I doubt Andrew and Dennis are going to be enough protection.”

Gunn looked at Angel. “Do we trust him?” he asked, pointedly not lowering his voice so that Wesley would hear him.

Angel did not take his eyes off Wesley. “We trust him.”

Jonathan stood up and edged forward. Wesley met his eyes briefly but there was no expression in them.

“Fred, Gunn, Jonathan, you guys go to the apartment and bring Cordelia and Andrew here. I’ll set up a nice big welcome for Wolfram and Hart - as soon as they realise Cordelia’s gone, this will be the first place they look. Take some weapons with you just in case,” Angel instructed.

Gunn went to the weapons cabinet and pulled out a sword for Fred, a crossbow for Jonathan, and an axe for himself. Jonathan accepted the weapon with hands that shook; very rarely did he ever handle weapons, much less use them in a fight. His skill was his magic, not close combat. “These guys...they’re just lawyers, right? Humans?”

“Could be,” Gunn said. “Or they could be any number of demonic hitmen Wolfram and Hart has on retainer.”

“This is just a precaution,” Angel said. “You probably won’t even have to use it. If you do - just aim for non-vital parts. Shoulders, knees, that sort of thing.”

“Sure,” Jonathan agreed quietly. This would definitely put Cordelia at ease, he figured. Three people blasting into the apartment with weapons drawn, claiming they were protecting her from evil lawyers. Nothing about this could possibly go wrong.

\---

Jonathan entered the apartment first, crossbow loose at his side. He really didn’t want to be carrying it around, but leaving it in the Plymouth would defeat the whole purpose of bringing it along in the first place. As soon as he stepped in the door, however, he leaned it up against the wall and walked forward without it. He could still grab it if necessary, but he was really hoping that it wouldn’t be.

“Cordelia?” he called out cautiously. “Andrew?”

A gust of air pushed him toward the kitchen. He poked his head through the doorway and nearly sighed with relief. Cordelia was triumphantly scooping up soy sauce packets from the kitchen table. The remains of a poker hand were scattered across the table, and Andrew looked decidedly unhappy.

“Hey, Jonathan,” Cordelia chirped. “Turns out I’m really good at poker.”

“I don’t like this game,” Andrew whined. “Can’t we play something else?”

“Don’t let him con you into playing rummy,” Jonathan warned her. “He’s stupidly good at that game. Are you feeling better now?” He tried not to let his nervousness show, but he felt like he had a target painted on the back of his head.

“Yeah, a little.” Cordelia looked past him and caught sight of Fred and Gunn hovering just over his shoulder. She raised an eyebrow. “Not better enough to go back to that hotel, though.” She scooped up the cards and began to shuffle them.

Jonathan took a couple of steps into the kitchen. “We think someone’s going to try to hurt you if you stay here. Those evil lawyers from Wolfram and Hart want to kidnap you.”

“Why?” Cordelia demanded. “No, seriously. Why me? What the hell did I do to deserve evil lawyers and vampire bosses and - and ghost roommates and all the other crazy stuff that has apparently happened to me that I have absolutely no memory of?”

“You know about Dennis?” Jonathan blurted out.

Cordelia glared at him. “Way to focus on the completely  _ not  _ important part of what I just said. My point is, you’re just as bad as those other guys, keeping things secret from me because you don’t want me to freak out. Well, too late, buddy. I’m freaking out and if those Wolfhart and Ram goons know what’s best for them, they’ll stay the hell away from me.” She slammed cards down in front of herself and Andrew. “Five card draw, jacks are wild.”

“Maybe you should listen to Jonathan,” Andrew said timidly. “Not just because I’m almost out of soy sauce packets. If you’re in danger…”

“Oh, please,” Cordelia scoffed. “They’re lawyers. How much damage could they do?”

With timing that could not have been better, several people clad entirely in black and carrying guns busted through Cordelia’s front door and swarmed into the apartment.

The kitchen was tight - they were immediately surrounded before Gunn and Fred could so much as raise their weapons. Jonathan swore softly, mad at himself for leaving the crossbow in the front entrance.

“That’s her,” one of the faceless people announced, pointing at Cordelia.

Jonathan moved automatically, trying to get himself between the pointing person and Cordelia, who was now standing up. One of the other black-clothed men tried to grab her from the other side, but before anyone could so much as blink, Cordelia administered a kick to his knees that sent him tumbling to the floor and a sharp jab at the throat that left him gasping.

Cordelia stared at her hands. “I’m a spy,” she whispered.

Now was definitely not the time to correct her. The other intruders looked a little more cautious, and there wasn’t much room in the kitchen to get into a knock-down drag-out fight.

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” Gunn said, sounding a lot tougher than the situation warranted. “The easy way is you leave and never come back here and we don’t have to kick all y’all’s asses.”

“I don’t think that’s helping, Charles,” Fred hissed.

“Grab her and let’s go,” the same one who had spoken before said. This time two people leaped forward, moving quicker than anyone had time to react. Fred caught one of them with the flat of her blade while Cordelia tried to land a punch but the person evaded her blow. The others moved in to provide backup and suddenly a melee broke out in Cordelia’s kitchen.

Andrew leaped on one of the intruders to try to pull him off Cordelia, but the man shook him off and sent him skidding across the floor. A moment later the abandoned crossbow came flying into Jonathan’s hands courtesy of an unseen force. He sent a mental thank you to Dennis but he was already moving, using the crossbow as a blunt weapon instead of firing it where he might accidentally hit one of his friends. Even at point-blank range, he didn’t trust his aim.

The fight was short and brutal. Cordelia was able to hold her own, trading blow for blow with the intruders, who must have been under instructions to bring her in unharmed because they avoided using the guns they had brought - presumably the weapons were just for intimidation factor. The battle spilled out into the living room, with people tumbling over furniture and generally creating a ruckus. There was no time to feel bad for the neighbours, though. Jonathan tossed his crossbow to Andrew and ran for his magic supplies, praying his asthma would not act up. He normally wasn’t this physically active in a fight, so asthma wasn’t a concern. One of the goons gave chase only to suddenly stop as if unable to take another step. Dennis to the rescue again.

Jonathan grabbed his mage kit and sifted through supplies, unsure what he was looking for. Anything that would harm the bad guys would harm his friends as well.

The person Dennis was holding back was now tearing at his clothes, trying to get rid of the unseen force keeping him from pursuing Jonathan. Another person entered through the busted front door - Connor. He leaped into the fray without hesitation, punched Dennis’ guy in the face, knocking him out. Around the room, more and more of the black-clad intruders were getting knocked down and not getting back up. They must not have expected Cordelia to have as much protection, or to be able to fight back because they outnumbered the good guys yet Jonathan’s team was still winning.

“Duck,” Jonathan shouted, tossing some powder in the air. Andrew, Gunn, and Fred all ducked immediately, as did one of the intruders. Connor and the other intruders made the mistake of looking up at the source of the shout instead, and promptly were blinded by a strobing flash of light as Jonathan tossed some powder into the air, covered his own eyes, and said a magic word to get it to ignite.

After that, the remaining intruders were easy to knock out. Connor cursed and groped his way to a seat, rubbing his eyes. Unconscious bodies littered the floor - seven in all.

“What the hell are we going to do with these guys?” Gunn asked. “We can’t exactly just drag them out the front door.”

“All that noise probably got the neighbours’ attention,” Fred added. “I’m surprised the cops aren’t here already.”

One of the ninja people began to stir. Gunn motioned for Andrew to hand over the crossbow and approached the man - or possibly woman - who was regaining consciousness.

“You’ve got two choices,” Gunn said when he was sure he had the person’s attention. “You can walk out of here of your own volition. Or I can put a bolt through your kneecap and escort you out.”

The person got to their feet and left without saying a word or even glancing at their comrades. One by one, in this fashion, the intruders gradually regained consciousness and were given the choice of leaving or getting shot. Only one tried to call Gunn’s bluff, making a calculated move for Cordelia, but he was swiftly knocked unconscious again. “He’s gonna have one hell of a headache when he wakes up,” Gunn said.

“Yeah, well, he better not do it in here. How are we going to get rid of him?” Cordelia asked.

“I’ll take care of it,” a new voice said, feminine and silky smooth. It was the woman Gunn had said was named Lilah Morgan. She stepped into the front hall of the apartment and surveyed the damage. “I figured it would be a simple extraction.”

“You underestimated the power of the Force,” Andrew told her.

Lilah flashed him a shark-like smile. “Yes, and I would have gotten away with it to if it weren’t for you meddling kids.” She looked at Cordelia. “Next time we’ll be better prepared.”

“You don’t know what you’re up against,” Cordelia warned her. “I was a higher being and a spy.”

Lilah smiled tightly and leaned slightly in Cordelia’s direction. “I know. Why do you think we want you so badly? You’d make a nice acquisition.”

Before Cordelia could retort, a man and a woman dressed as EMTs rolled a stretcher into the apartment, loaded up the fallen ninja, and wheeled him out again in less than a minute. Lilah swept out behind them.

“Now do you believe us it’ll be safer for you at the hotel?” Gunn asked Cordelia.

“Maybe not safer, but definitely less suspicious,” Fred agreed, shutting the front door. “Good thing most people are out of the house at this time of day.”

“Yeah, because the blood-sucking boss is definitely not suspicious,” Cordelia said. “Especially with all the fun lying and evasiveness.”

“No more lyin’,” Fred promised. “No more evasiveness. We just want to get your memory back in the least traumatic way possible. We didn’t think dumpin’ it all on you at once would be a good idea.”

“No, no, we’ll just wait for the spy ninjas to do that for us,” Cordelia said. “I just want someone to be honest with me.”

“We will be. I swear,” Fred said. “Come back to the hotel and we’ll see if Lorne has any leads.”

Cordelia looked to Andrew, who looked to Jonathan, who felt it was rather unfair that he was the one being looked at. He shrugged. “I don’t know. These guys are trustworthy, for what it’s worth. I guess, follow your gut?”

“My gut is telling me you’re all nuts,” Cordelia said drily. “But it’s also saying that this nice carpet probably has some blood stains in it and I don’t want to add any more when these jerks show up again.” She turned her attention to Fred. “So take me back to the hotel.”

Fred sagged visibly with relief. “We’ll get everything sorted out, Cordy. I swear. No matter how long it takes, we’ll get you back to normal.”

“Wonderful,” Cordelia said.

“You guys comin’ too?” Fred asked Andrew and Jonathan.

“Sure,” Andrew said. “Let me grab my bag.”

A sharp flicker of relief crossed Cordelia’s features at Andrew’s words. Jonathan was glad she had someone she trusted in what was probably a terrifying nightmare for her. “Hey, what happened to that other guy who was here? The one who was on our side?”

Fred, Gunn, and Jonathan all looked around sharply, but Connor was nowhere to be found. A pen tapped softly on Jonathan’s arm, a message from Dennis: L-E-F-T. L-I-L-A-H.

“He left when Lilah got here, I think,” Jonathan translated. “I guess the blindness didn’t last that long.”

Cordelia’s stared at him. “Is the ghost telling you that? Do you speak to ghosts? Are you like some sort of necromancer or psychic or something?”

“What? No! I’m just a mage, and I happen to know Morse Code,” Jonathan explained. “We, uh, Dennis talks to me by tapping out Morse Code messages.”

Andrew returned to the living room, messenger bag slung over his shoulder. “I’m ready,” he announced breathlessly. “Are we going?”

Jonathan tapped a quick message on his own leg, hoping Dennis caught it. Y-O-U O-K. He had no idea what sort of energy it must have taken for Dennis to hold back a charging person, but it could not have been easy.

F-I-N-E, Dennis replied. R-E-S-T N-O-W.

Jonathan headed for the door behind everyone else. “Thanks for the help,” he murmured out loud.

“Yeah, thanks P.D!” Gunn added. “You kicked ass.”

Dennis waggled his pen in a goodbye motion as they filed out of the apartment and into the afternoon sunshine.

\---

“So I just...sing,” Cordelia said uncertainly.

“That’s right,” Angel encouraged. She gave him a wary look, and he sat back slightly. He was leaning a little too close into her personal space, eager to get on with the next step.

“What do I sing?” Cordelia asked.

“Anything you want, sweetheart,” Lorne said. He held a glass of something alcoholic in one hand and an easy smile on his face. In spite of the horns and red eyes, he looked like someone a person could easily talk to. Or sing to, as the case may be.

“O-okay.” She looked around at all of them and then sang in an off-key wobble, “ _ I decided long ago, never to walk in anyone’s shadow. If I fail, if I succeed, at least I’ll live as I believe _ ….”

As she continued, Lorne began to look decidedly sick - and not just because of Cordelia’s butchering of Whitney Houston. At least, Jonathan hoped that wasn’t the cause. Or maybe he did - because the alternative would be that something in Cordelia’s aura was definitely not right.

“That’s...that’s enough,” Lorne said, holding up a hand. Cordelia stuttered to a stop. “I’m just gonna…” He set his glass down with a trembling hand and dashed for the stairs.

Cordelia looked at the rest of her audience, aghast. “I wasn’t  _ that  _ bad, was I?”

Angel waved a distracted hand. “You were wonderful,” he mumbled, already heading after Lorne.

“Do you need some water?” Andrew asked Cordelia. Jonathan didn’t hear her reply because he was quietly moving in the same direction Lorne and Angel had gone. He had something important to tell Angel.

By the time Jonathan caught up to Angel, he was pounding on Lorne’s door. “Open up,” he called. “Lorne, come on. What did you see?” He glanced at Jonathan. “Not now, Jonathan.”

“Is everything okay?” Jonathan asked.

Lorne’s door swung open. “No, everything is not okay. Things are very very bad, and now if you’ll excuse me I have to go vomit a few more times and then go to bed.” He made to shut the door again.

Angel stuck his foot into the doorway so Lorne couldn’t shut him out. “You gotta give me something.”

Lorne sighed. “Do the words ‘slouching towards Bethlehem’ mean anything to you? I didn’t get all of it - just bits and pieces - but what I saw was enough to make me want to crawl under my bed and stay there until the apocalypse comes. Evil is coming.” He glanced at Jonathan, who drew back slightly. “Evil may already be here.” He nudged Angel’s foot out of the way and shut the door.

Jonathan stared at Angel. “What does that mean?” he asked. Why had Lorne looked at him when he said that?

Angel sighed. “Who knows? Lorne can read people’s auras, but that’s not exactly a straightforward thing.” He put on what he must have thought was a reassuring smile but looked more like a distorted grimace. “Don’t worry - we’ll get Cordy back to normal in no time,” he said, falsely bright.

“Yeah….” Jonathan said, still staring at Lorne’s door. He had almost forgotten what he meant to tell Angel, but then it came back to him in a rush of echoic memory. “Angel - the song Cordelia sang just now, she’s sung it before. At the High School Talent Show in 10th grade. It can’t just be a coincidence that she chose that song, of all the songs she could have chosen.”

“You mean like the memory is closer to conscious thought than we assumed?” Angel asked. He folded his arms over his chest as he considered what this might mean.

“I guess so,” Jonathan said. “Or maybe she just really likes Whitney Houston. I figured you’d want to know, is all.”

Angel nodded. “Thanks. It does help.” He sighed, rubbed his forehead. “We’ll look for a memory spell and get this all sorted out.”

“I’ll help,” Jonathan responded immediately. “Any way I can.”

“Good, good,” Angel said absently. He swept past Jonathan and disappeared down a side hallway before Jonathan could even register that he was moving.

“You get used to that,” Fred’s voice said. Jonathan turned and saw her approaching him from the direction of the lobby stairs. “Everythin’ okay?”

Jonathan shrugged. “I don’t really know. How’s Cordelia?”

“Scared. She and Andrew locked themselves in Angel’s office an’ Andrew will only say that Cordelia needs some time alone right now and won’t let anyone see her,” Fred said. “C’mon downstairs and we’ll figure out the next step.”

Jonathan followed Fred willingly, but he could not shake the ominous feeling Lorne’s words had invoked within him.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

“What about this one?” Andrew asked, passing a book over to Jonathan.

Jonathan read through the passage Andrew had noted with a blue sticky tab. “Maybe,” he said. “It requires Callaan Root though, and that’s hard to find.”

“Lorne might know a guy,” Andrew said, taking the book back from Jonathan and adding it to the Maybe pile.

“Why am I not in college?” Cordelia asked suddenly. “I’m college-age, right? So why aren’t I, like, cheerleading for USC or something?”

It was three days since the disastrous singing attempt, and Cordelia had taken on Andrew as her official question answerer. Even though Angel promised no more lying or evasiveness, she didn’t trust him. The only problem was, Andrew didn’t know most of the answers to what Cordelia wanted to know, which resulted in a lot of creative license.

“You forewent college in a bold move to strike it rich in the noble field of character transfiguration and adaptation,” Andrew informed her. “ The ultimate art of empathy and storytelling, the true merging of understanding in which one sheds everything they are to don another life.”

“Acting,” Jonathan supplied.

“Yeah, I think I got that,” Cordelia said. She was becoming almost as good as Jonathan at interpreting Andrew-speak into everyday language.

“But instead, you found your passion in this: the devious, dastardly darkworld of the Los Angeles underground. You fight demons and crime, save the damsels and, uh...dudes in distress. You help the hopeless,” Andrew said. “And you designed the angel on the business cards.”

Cordelia raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I thought that was a jellyfish. So, I wanted to be an actress?” She looked around for a mirror and saw none. “What, is this guy allergic to not seeing himself? I guess I would have been a good actress. I’ve definitely got the body for it. But don’t people go to college to become actors? I mean, some don’t, but why didn’t I? Was I a bad student?”

“I don’t know,” Andrew admitted.

Cordelia looked to Jonathan next, who tried to look like he was too absorbed in his reading to hear. He didn’t want to be the one to break it to Cordelia that her parents were currently in jail and she came to L.A. broke.

“Jonathan, you had some classes with Cordy,” Andrew said. “Was she a good student?”

“You were definitely above average,” Jonathan said, remembering how every time they got a graded assignment or test back, she would announce loudly what her score was and then talk about how she barely studied for it at all. “You were in the top five percentile.”

“So why no college?” Cordelia asked. She had the familiar stubborn set to her mouth that meant she was not about to drop this anytime soon.

“Your parents used to be really rich,” Jonathan said, giving in. “But it turned out your dad was dodging his taxes and also embezzling money. He and your mother ended up going to jail and you were left broke and with no family to turn to.” He peered anxiously at Cordelia, waiting for the inevitable dramatics.

Cordelia narrowed her eyes and tapped her foot. Her jaw worked almost imperceptibly, but she formed no words. Jonathan bit his lip, hoping she wasn’t about to start crying.

He needn’t have worried. She marched over to the sliding office door, opened it, and asked the rest of the lobby occupants, “Do we pay our taxes?”

“You do them every year,” Angel’s voice answered, sounding bewildered. “Well, you get a tax guy to do them every year. Well, more of a underground bartender who’s really good with numbers. He’s the only one who doesn’t make a fuss when we write off adzes as business expenses.”

“Good,” Cordelia said, shutting the door on any follow-up questions or statements. She went back to sorting through stuff on Angel’s desk, and the boys returned to looking for memory spells or rituals that might be useful. Things were quiet for several long minutes before Cordelia suddenly dropped what she was holding and asked with absolutely no context, “Were we in love?”

Jonathan choked on his own spit. “What?” Andrew squeaked.

“Me and Angel,” Cordelia said contemplatively. “Were we in love?”

“What makes you ask that?” Andrew asked, recovering himself.

“This feeling I get when I look at him,” Cordelia said, staring into a distance only she could see. “I don’t know...like I’m missing something very important.”

“And you think it’s love?” Andrew said, a little starry-eyed at the thought.

Cordelia shrugged. “Maybe? Or maybe he tried to bite me once - I don’t know. That’s why we’re trying to find the memory spell, remember?” She was starting to get worked up; she had a habit of doing that when Angel became involved. “Because  _ I don’t know _ .”

“Everything is going to be okay, Cordy,” Andrew said, moving swiftly over to her side and laying a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We’re going to find the right spell eventually and you’re going to be back to your usual self in no time.”

Jonathan looked back at his books, uncomfortable. He didn’t know what to do when people got overly emotional, and it made him nervous. He tried to concentrate on the words before him, but the text swam and he couldn’t seem to focus.

“I think I’m going to get some more coffee,” he mumbled. No one was listening - Cordelia was calm again, and she and Andrew were messing around with a locked drawer in Angel’s desk.

“I bet we could pick it,” Andrew said.

“I bet we could find the key,” Cordelia countered. “Start searching.”

Jonathan slipped out while they were distracted. He went over to the coffeemaker and measured out enough grounds for a full pot.

“How are things going in there?” Angel asked.

Jonathan shrugged. “Cordelia wants a solution, and it’s making her edgy that we’re not making much headway. We’ve got some leads, but nothing solid yet.”

“Fred’s pretty much the same,” Angel said. “And Lorne keeps disappearing and not telling us where he’s going.”

“A man’s gotta have some secrets, my little butternut squash,” Lorne said, entering the lobby from the back door. “But believe me, all will be forgiven when you see what I hold in my hands.” He hurried over and presented the item to Angel with a flourish. Jonathan, Fred, and Gunn pressed close to look at it.

“It’s an urn,” Angel guessed.

It was a small ceramic bottle - too small to be an urn, unless it was built for a hamster. “Not quite,” Lorne said. “It is a receptacle though. This thing is the key component to a memory spell guaranteed to bring our Cordy back to her usual incredible self.”

Angel took the bottle from him carefully. “Are you sure it will work?” he asked. “I’m not sure I trust this.”

“It’ll work, pumpkin,” Lorne said. “Where is she? I’ve got the ingredients all lined up and as soon as the sixth gets here, we’ll be ready to go faster than you can say ‘Henry Gustav Molaison.’” He swept over to the office and pulled open the door. “Princess, I am about to rock your world.”

“What’s the sixth ingredient?” Jonathan asked, curious. The runes on the side of the bottle were hypnotic, and he felt a strange draw to it.

“Not ingredient, my little honey-glazed ham, sixth person,” Lorne corrected him, glancing over his shoulder. He stepped back as Cordelia and Andrew exited the office to hear what new Lorne brought.

Gunn made a face. “Okay, I know I ain’t the brains around here but I’m pretty sure we got six people already.”

Lorne looked a little sheepish. “No offense to the newest additions to our happy little family, but I thought it might be better for the spell to be done by people who know our little Cordy as the woman she’s become rather than the kid she used to be.”

It made sense, but the sting of rejection still hurt. “So the sixth person is…?” Cordelia asked.

“That would be me,” Wesley announced as he walked into the lobby.

Cordelia eyed him warily. “Who is that?” she asked Andrew.

“Wesley. He used to work with you but something happened and now everyone hates him and he hates everyone,” Andrew supplied in a stage whisper that everyone could hear. “At least that’s what he claims, but he keeps showing up to help out, so I don’t know if he really hates everyone as much as he claims.”

A tense, awkward silence followed Andrew’s statement. Nobody was sure what to say, and Wesley was now scowling and looking like he might just turn around and walk out.

“Um,” Jonathan said hesitantly. “I don’t mean to make things even worse, but I don’t think the memory spell is going to work.”

“What?” Lorne came over and plucked the bottle out of Angel’s hands. “What are you talking about?”

“I - I don’t know. I feel kinda sick when I try to read those runes, though,” Jonathan said. “Kinda dizzy and disoriented. I don’t think they’re going to do what you think they will.”

Lorne shook his head. “I don’t see it. They look fine to me.”

Everyone was crowding even closer now and Jonathan felt a wave of nausea sweep over him at the tight press of bodies. He could feel cold sweat on his forehead.

“I feel it too,” Wesley said quietly. “If you try to test the magic, there is a quality to it...like it burns.”

Jonathan shook his head. It didn’t feel like heat to him - more like a rollercoaster with no seats, just a string attached to your navel sending you in loop-the-loops.

Lorne frowned. “It just feels mystical to me. Unfortunately, it can’t exactly sing so my area of expertise is a little useless here.”

“I don’t feel anything,” Fred said. “It just looks like a bottle to me.”

Jonathan opened his mouth to explain, but closed it again. It felt too similar to spells Jonathan had done during his time with The Trio. Black magic. He didn’t want to have to delve into that can of worms right this minute, so he kept quiet and let the others continue to argue.

“Great,” Angel spat, frustrated. “The one lead we have and it’s a dead end.”

Wesley didn’t say anything as he stared at the bottle, but Jonathan wondered if he had figured out the same thing Jonathan had. “It wouldn’t be hard to fix,” Jonathan said. Provided he could keep his lunch down long enough, that was.

“Fix how?” Cordelia and Angel demanded at the same time. Angel looked at her in a way that Jonathan would once have assumed to be friendly admiration but in light of Cordelia’s question about her and Angel, he wondered if there was a bigger spark there.

“It is a memory spell,” Wesley said, reaching out to trace a couple of the runes. “Just not quite the one you would expect for bringing back lost memories. But the elements are the same. They just need some fine-tuning.”

“And you can do this fine-tuning?” Cordelia asked quickly.

“Yes, I believe so,” Wesley said. “It may take some time, however. And I will need to make sure it’s absolutely perfect. Spells that affect the mind can be quite tricky.” There was a gleam in his eye that Jonathan understood - it was the delight of a puzzle to be solved, a challenge to his skills. 

“I can help,” Jonathan offered.

Angel looked at them then at Cordelia. “Okay, good. Jonathan, you and Wesley -” He stopped, suddenly remembering that Wesley was no longer his employee. “I mean, if Wesley is open to it, Jonathan can help him and we can get Cordelia back to her normal self.”

Wesley looked warily at the people surrounding him: Angel, looking sheepish but hopeful; Fred, Andrew, and Cordelia all smiling; Gunn scowling; Lorne frowning at the bottle. And then lastly at Jonathan, who looked back at him unblinking. “Very well,” Wesley said at last. “For Cordelia’s sake.”

“I’ve got some books that should help us,” Jonathan said. He carefully took the bottle back from Lorne. “They’re in the office.”

Wesley led the way into the office as if he was still the boss of the place. He made a beeline for the table where Andrew and Jonathan had been piling potentially useful books earlier. He sorted brusquely through them, selecting a couple and discarding the rest. “Those are useless,” he announced. “These two should suffice.”

Jonathan grumbled quietly under his breath. Did Wesley always act like this big of a jerk? Jonathan seemed to recall some times from over the summer when working with Wesley was almost fun - but that was back before their first major falling out, with the woman in the closet. Ever since then, things had been nothing but strained, with Wesley pulling this aloof and pompous act. “You might want to take off your jacket and get comfortable,” Jonathan responded after a moment. “We’re going to be here for a while.”

“I’ll keep it on, thanks.”

Working together - more or less - Jonathan and Wesley were able to trace an edited version of the bottle’s runes. Cordelia hovered over their shoulders, pointing at various parts and asking what function they served. Jonathan expected sharpness and exasperation from Wesley, but he proved to be patient and amused by Cordelia’s demanding curiosity. Never once, however, did Wesley remove his jacket; a couple of times Jonathan caught a glimpse of something metallic hidden up the sleeve, but he could not see precisely what it was.

A new client came in and someone else called for an update on a case that was already in the works. The others bustled around, but Jonathan focused on his work. Once they had the sketch, they had to magically erase the runes already painted onto the bottle - without causing imbalance in the magical energies involved - and use mystically enhanced paints to put the new symbols on. It was long, arduous, tedious work, and by the time they finished it had grown late. Jonathan’s stomach growled; he had forgotten to eat at least one meal, possibly two.

When his eyes finally unglazed, however, he realised there was a plate with a peanut butter, jelly, and potato chip sandwich waiting by his elbow. He had no idea how long it had been waiting there for him, but he was grateful for its presence. He polished it off in less than thirty seconds.

Wesley also had a sandwich waiting for him, though he ate his more demurely. “Do you really think this will work?” Jonathan asked. He felt sure he had the right balance of ingredients and sigils, but this was Cordelia’s mind they were messing with. He didn’t want to make things worse.

“It will work,” Wesley said. He finished off the last bite of roast beef and swiss, and stood up. “Let’s go.”

When the entered the lobby, only Cordelia and Lorne were there. Cordelia was reading a gossip magazine and Lorne was talking on the phone. “Where’s Andrew?” Jonathan asked Cordelia.

“Cooking stew for dinner,” Cordelia answered, but her eyes were focused on the bottle Wesley held in his hands. “Is it ready? Are we going to get my memories back?”

“As soon as we gather the others,” Wesley said. “Where are they?”

Lorne hung up the phone. “On their way back. There was a little problem out on the docks, but it’s under control now. We should get the rest of the stuff set up while we wait for them.” He nudged a box by his feet. “I’ve got everything in here.”

“Excellent.” Wesley picked up the box and began digging around in its contents to make sure everything was there. “Where’s the orcanthan root?”

“Down at the bottom.” Lorne pushed a few objects aside and pulled out a baggie of crushed red powder. “We won’t need much.”

“This should only take a few minutes,” Wesley said.

“Good,” Cordelia piped up. “I am so ready to be myself again.”

“Wesley…” Lorne started to say, then paused, looking uncertain of how to continue. “Can we talk for a minute? While the others are gone?”

Wesley scowled at him. “No.” He moved out into the lobby and set the box down in the large empty space by the back stairwell.

“Wes!” Lorne chided. “I know you feel betrayed and like the team doesn’t deserve your forgiveness, but I know if you just talk things through with them, you’d be welcome back on the team.”

Wesley gave him a cold look as he set the box of supplies down. “Back here and working under Angel, who never respected my authority even when I was supposedly in charge? Working with a team who won’t hesitate to turn their backs on me again? No, thank you.” Wesley touched his left wrist with his right hand as if checking that the metallic thing was still there.

Jonathan looked at Lorne, who appeared stricken. “We miss you, buddy. Fred misses you.”

Wesley looked away, then squatted down to start setting up. “Jonathan, come help me,” he said, ignoring Lorne.

“I don’t work for you anymore,” Jonathan reminded him.

Wesley made a sound of frustration in the back of his throat, as if he wasn’t sure if he wanted to strangle Jonathan or Lorne more right now. “Jonathan, please come help me,” he amended.

“I can help,” Cordelia said. “What should I do?”

Jonathan relented and went over to help Wesley with the supplies. To Cordelia, Lorne said, “You just stay there until we’re ready. Your part comes later.”

As Wesley drew the chalk sigils on the floor, Jonathan put together the bundles of herbs and magic plants that would aid the energies they put forth into the spell. Most of them he knew by sight or smell, but a couple he had never heard of before. Wesley directed him where to place them. Andrew returned from the kitchen, bearing a tray with steaming bowls of stew for himself, Lorne, and Cordelia. When he saw that Wesley and Jonathan had emerged from the office, he went back to grab two more bowls. The stew was hot and hearty, and lifted Jonathan’s spirits.

By the time the others came back, the sigil was finished, and Stew, Part 2 (as Andrew put it) was ready to be served. There was a general feeling of excitement and anticipation as the group finished eating dinner and got ready to perform the spell.

“Alright, Cordelia you sit here,” Lorne directed. “And then Angel on this side, Gunn on this side - there you go. Fred, you’re next to Gunn, and then Wesley. And I’ll sit here. Jonathan and Andrew will be on hand to make sure everything goes okay. At the first sign of trouble, they kill the spell. Got it?”

Everyone chorused their assent.

“It’s going to be okay, though, right?” Andrew asked Jonathan in an undertone. “Everything’s going to work?”

Jonathan bit back his own nervousness and nodded. “It’s going to be fine.”

The six people in the circle joined hands and looked to Lorne for instruction. “Okay, everyone,” he said. “Eyes on the bottle.” In a more laden tone, he continued, “We come in supplication and hope. Bring her back.”

The bottle began to rattle, then spin swiftly. It clattered onto its side and spun even more forcefully. Jonathan edged closer, but he didn’t feel the queasiness of earlier. He felt only strength and calm emanating from the bottle.

“Bring her back.”

Energies pour into the circle from unknown sources, mixing with the ingredients laid out on the floor and rising up through the chalk sigil. They poured into the spinning bottle, filling it up and up and up to the top until it could hold no more. The bottle came to an abrupt halt, the opening pointed towards Cordelia, and a bright white light shot out of the bottle and into Cordelia’s body. Her eyes snapped shut and her whole body tensed; Jonathan started to move forward automatically but he stopped himself. Everyone held on with bated breath as Cordelia slowly reopened her eyes and relaxed. She looked at them one by one, her expression giving nothing away.

Suddenly she broke into a grin. “Hey, guys. Don’t tell me I had you worried.”

“Oh my god,” Angel breathed, scrambling to pull her into a hug. She laughed and patted his arm.

“I’m back,” she promised. “And I’m not leaving again.”

After Angel finally managed to drag himself away from Cordelia, she stood up and immediately found herself with an armful of Andrew as he leapt in for a hug. She patted him too. “Thanks for helping me out these last few days,” she told him.

“You’re welcome!” he said, drawing back. Fred, Gunn, and Lorne also took turns embracing her.

“So you remember everythin’?” Fred asked.

“I remember everything I remembered before I went away,” Cordelia said. “I think. How would I know if I’ve forgotten something?” She looked at Jonathan. “And I remember everything from when I was a higher power, too. I think we need to talk.” She looked at Wesley next. “But not before you get over yourself and give me a hug like you know you want to.”

Wesley looked like he might protest for a moment but at Cordelia’s crooked finger, he relented. The hug was tense and awkward for a long second before Wesley finally gave in and pulled her close. Cordelia closed her eyes and relaxed into the hug, receiving comfort as much as providing it. Jonathan thought he heard her whisper “Stop being an idiot and come home” before she released Wesley, but maybe that was just his imagination.

Finally, Cordelia let Wesley go and motioned Jonathan and Andrew to follow her into Angel’s office. “Should I…?” Angel started to ask but Cordelia waved him away.

“We’ll be out in a minute.”

Once the office door was shut, Jonathan looked at Cordelia apprehensively. “How much do you know?”

“All of it,” Cordelia said. She grimaced. “Perks of being a higher power, I guess. I saw what you guys did to Buffy and Katrina, and then what happened to Tara. But I also saw Jonathan helping Buffy as much as possible and everything you two have been doing since to make up for what you did in Sunnydale.” She considered both of them sharply. “There isn’t a single person in this office who doesn’t know a thing or two about redemption or running away from a bad situation or healing after trauma. You don’t have to sit everyone down and explain your past, but Angel at the very least has to know.” Her expression was stern, chiding - but also there was a softness around her eyes. It didn’t quite look like forgiveness, but maybe understanding.

Jonathan shifted uncomfortably. It had been difficult enough telling Dennis about that stuff - now he was supposed to tell it to a person who he could see and read his reactions? “Okay. Aren’t you mad at us?”

Cordelia considered him carefully. “At the risk of sounding like your parent - which, ugh excuse me, you are two months older than me - I’m disappointed. Of all the guys at school, I thought you were better than attempted rape and accomplice to murder.” She glanced at the office door. “But I’d be a hypocrite to hate you for that when I know everything that Angelus has done.” Cordelia sighed. “He’s not going to judge you, either. Well, he might a little, since Buffy’s involved. But if you don’t want to do the actual confession, have your boy here do it instead. He’s the only person who bothered to tell me the absolute truth, even if it was a little colourful at times.”

Andrew beamed happily. Jonathan swallowed. Telling Angel everything...It was a terrifying thought. What if Cordelia was wrong?

“Speaking of Andrew being honest and helpful - I wanted to say thank you for that,” Cordelia said, looking down. She almost looked….bashful. Wesley had been right - this Cordelia, the real Cordelia, was someone Jonathan did not recognise compared to the girl he grew up with. “And also… I want to go to the apartment and talk to Dennis by myself. While you guys are here talking to Angel.”

Jonathan fished his key out of his pocket and handed it over. “It’s your apartment,” he reminded her. “Now that you’re back, we’ll move our stuff out and you can have it back.”

Cordelia slipped the key into her pocket. She had a peculiar look in her eye. “I think you guys should keep it for now. I’ll let you know if I need it back. I think I’m going to stay at the hotel for a while. All my stuff is already here and all that heavy lifting of dragging it back to the apartment… well, it would just exhaust you guys. And I am nothing if not considerate of the feelings of others.” She grinned at them. “I’m out of here. Talk to Angel.” She started to move away, then came back and pulled Jonathan into a brief hug before striding out of the office, stealing Angel’s car keys, and heading out the front door before anyone could say another word.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very very vague references to sexual arousal in the last couple of paragraphs.

Chapter 16

_ “The Seal of Danzalthar.” _

_ Jonathan looks around, startled. He doesn’t know where he is, but it’s dark. A figure steps forth out of the shadows, so pale he seems to be glowing. It’s the man Jonathan now recognises as Dennis. Jonathan sighs with relief. _

_ “You’re looking for it,” Dennis says. There is a earnestness in his eyes and a resounding air of dolefulness around him. _

_ “I’m not,” Jonathan promises him. “I just want to know where it is and what it’s connection to Sunnydale is.” _

_ Dennis cocks his head curiously. “I know what you’re looking for.” _

_ Jonathan takes an involuntary step forward. “How do I know I can trust you? How do I know you are who you say you are?” _

_ Dennis steps forward and touches Jonathan’s hand. Dimly, he notes that the touch is warm, not the chill that Jonathan has come to expect. “I’m dead,” Dennis says, a wry smile twisting his lips. “What reason would I have to lie to you?” _

_ Jonathan pulls his hand away. “That’s not good enough.” _

_ Dennis ducks his head and looks at Jonathan through his lashes. “Shall I go through the list of all the things you told me under strict confidence. Katrina? Buffy? I didn’t want to go through the litany - I wanted to save you from having to hear your crimes echoed back to you.” _

_ “No, no,” Jonathan says hastily. He has had enough of spelling out his past for people. It’s only been two days since his confession to Angel. “You’re right. Sorry.” _

_ “It’s okay,” Dennis assures him. “What do you want to know about the Seal? This is the only way I can talk to you freely - I can tell you what you need to know.” _

_ Jonathan leans forward eagerly. “How do you know about the Seal?” _

_ “It’s mystical,” Dennis explains simply. “And so, technically, am I. There are a lot of things on this plane of existence that I can see and know in ways you couldn’t. And I can show them to you.” _

_ Dennis holds out his hand, and a light gathers in his palm, illuminating their surroundings. They are in some sort of cave or basement. The air is dank and musty, but the light spilling from Dennis’ palm brings a warmth to the place. They are standing in the middle of a pit that has been dug right into the floor. An intricate design sprawls at their feet. _

_ “The Seal of Danzalthar,” Dennis says. “It’s in the basement of what was formerly Sunnydale High. About to be currently Sunnydale High once more.” _

_ “Once more?” Jonathan repeats. “They’re opening the high school back up?” _

_ Dennis nods solemnly. “And this seal is right below their feet - but nobody knows. And it is key to stopping the apocalypse. You have to open it to help Buffy.” _

_ “Me?” Jonathan repeats. “Why me?” _

_ Dennis is starting to fade. He shakes his head. “I couldn’t tell anyone else. Andrew can’t help Buffy - not like you can. He wouldn’t want to.” _

_ That doesn’t sound right. “Andrew heard about the Seal from Warren, though. Or - I mean a dream version of Warren. Warren would never team up with Buffy to stop the apocalypse.” _

_ The light in Dennis’ palm is starting to flicker. Or maybe it’s Dennis himself. “I can’t stay much longer,” he says. “Communicating with you like this is using up all my energy. When you wake up, I won’t be around for several hours. So listen to me: Andrew is being manipulated, but not by Warren. The forces of good are just using his face because they know it’s one that Andrew will trust. They’re telling him what I’m telling you - you have to open the Seal in order to save the world.” _

_ Dennis vanishes the moment the last word leaves his mouth, plunging Jonathan into darkness so deep it startles him awake. _

“Dennis?” Jonathan asked tentatively. But true to his word, Dennis was nowhere to be found.

\---

“How do you know if you’ve upset a ghost?” Andrew asked as he and Jonathan walked into the hotel lobby at half past nine.

“What did you do to Dennis?” Jonathan asked warily.

“Don’t get comfortable,” Gunn said before Andrew could answer. He gestured to the closed office doors. “We’ve got a case. Breakfast burrito?” He offered a greasy bag to them.

“We already ate,” Andrew told him, straining to peer into the office without it being obvious what he was doing. “Eggs and bacon and bagels with lox. What’s the case?”

“Missing little boy,” Fred told them, taking a the bag from Gunn and unwrapping one of the breakfast burritos. “Parents think it there’s something supernatural goin’ on.” She took a large bite of the burrito.

“You already had three,” Gunn said, amusement lacing his words. “One of these days you’re gonna tell me where you put it all.”

“Transdimensional portal inside her stomach?” Andrew guessed.

“There would have to be containment spells around the portal or else it would just consume everything around it, including Fred herself,” Jonathan countered.

“Assuming that the portal is there naturally and not put there by an evil sorcerer, the containment spells could be build into the portal itself. Or Fred could have a natural immunity, and the portal only consumes foreign objects,” Andrew said.

“That would explain why I never get food poisonin’ even when I’ve eaten some pretty questionable stuff,” Fred said around another large bite. “Even in Pylea I never really got sick.”

The office door opened at that moment, and Fred put down her burrito, swallowing quickly. A man, a woman, and a teenage boy exited, followed by Cordelia and Angel. “We’ll figure it out as quickly as possible,” Cordelia assured the parents. “You’ll have your son back in no time.”

The man nodded silently, while the woman just stared stone-faced at the group crowded around the front desk. Her thoughts were plain on her face: they were clearly no match for whatever unknown force had taken their little boy. The teenager just looked bored. They left, and Angel turned to address his team.

“The parents don’t know much,” he said. “They woke up this morning and their younger son was gone. He’s six years old. The wife caught a glimpse of something under the bed, so when they moved it, they found this.”

He showed them a picture of a design drawn on the bedroom’s hardwood floor. It was large and intricate, with many flowing loops and swirls. Jonathan recognised several parts of the pattern, but not the whole of it.

“Doesn’t look very nice,” Fred commented.

“Any ideas what it means?” Angel asked.

Fred shook her head. “No idea. I don’t think it’s a spell or portal, though,” she said. “More like…”

“Like it’s marking the spot?” Jonathan suggested.

“Exactly,” Fred confirmed grimly.

“Like a giant red flag saying ‘this is the boy you’re looking for,’” Cordelia surmised. “Ouch. So why him?”

“That’s what we need to find out,” Angel said. “Cordelia, you and Lorne and Gunn look into the family connection. Jonathan, Fred, and Andrew - you’re going to figure out who this symbol is communicating to and for what purpose. Once we figure that out, we may be able to track down where the boy is. The longer this boy is gone, the less chance we get to him in time and the more scared he’s going to be. So let’s move.”

The teams broke up to pick up their assigned work. Jonathan’s stomach twisted in knots as he pulled a book on Sycoran blood rituals. A couple of the parts Jonathan had recognised were reminiscent of the same patterns used in the sigil used for the blood ritual, but it wasn’t exact. He hoped it was a step in the right direction, though.

He was finding it hard to concentrate. Beside him, Andrew was fidgety too. They’d worked a few cases for Angel Investigations, but none had involved children so far. Mostly, they just researched demons and told Angel where the weak spots were. Now a little boy’s life was on the line, and Jonathan felt sick when he thought about what failure would mean. They didn’t know how much time they had, but it couldn’t be very much.

“Do you think he’s okay?” Andrew whispered at one point.

Jonathan’s stomach gave another unhappy twist. “No,” he said. “Probably not. But he will be when we find him and rescue him.”

Over by the computer, Cordelia and the others weren't having much better luck. “Nothing,” Cordelia groaned. “The family is squeakier than the Brady Bunch. Mom stays at home while Dad brings in the money. Older son Stephen is on the football team, popular, not much of a brainiac but he gets by. Go to church on Sundays, no demons hanging out in their living room or anything.”

“Wait...wait, I might have something,” Fred said, standing up and holding a book out for Angel to look at. “Jonathan was almost right about the Sycoran blood ritual. There’s a related species of demon - the V’raknar. They are similar in appearance, language, and rituals...and look here. Look familiar?”

Jonathan stood up and peered at the book over Angel’s elbow. Angel held up the picture of the sigil from the little boy’s room and compared it to the drawing in Fred’s book. They were just about a match. “Summoning spell,” he read. “Not an X marking the spot after all. I guess this must be it. What do these - these V’raknar want with the kid?”

“I dunno yet,” Fred admitted, shifting through a pile of papers. “But whatever it is, I’m guessin’ it’s not good. And probably similar to the blood ritual.”

“These demons, though - they’ll show up anywhere you draw the sigil?” Angel demanded.

“Yeah,” Fred said.

“What are you thinkin’?” Gunn asked. “Bring one here?”

Angel nodded. “Exactly. See if we can persuade it to give us some information.” He pointed to Fred and Jonathan. “Can you recreate this?”

Fred looked at Jonathan, who shrugged. Sure, they could recreate it, but they were hedging a lot on Angel’s ‘persuasion.’ “Yeah, but Angel - who put the sigil under Tyler’s bed in the first place?” Fred asked.

“We don’t have time to worry about that right now,” Angel said. “Lorne - how’s your V’raknarian?”

“Nonexistent,” Lorne admitted. “Here’s hoping it understands English.”

“Um,” Andrew ventured. “I can speak some Sycoran. Enough to communicate, at least.”

“Are the languages similar enough?” Angel demanded.

“It’ll be a bit like trying to speak Spanish to someone who speaks Portuguese,” Andrew admitted. “But I can give it my best.”

“Fred, Jonathan - sigil. Not here - down in the basement where we can keep the demon contained if it proves uncooperative,” Angel instructed. “Andrew - what’s the Sycoran blood ritual?”

“It’s a biannual ritual sacrifice meant to promote longevity and good health,” Andrew recited. “Uh, they say it works best with a human baby, but more recent Sycoran traditions have been substituting in baby pigs or monkeys. Sycorans are endangered because of demon hunters and stuff, so they figure the less they attract attention to themselves by killing human kids the better their chances of survival.”

“I guess these V’raknars aren’t as discerning,” Lorne muttered distastefully. “But Tyler’s not a baby.”

“Maybe it was the best they could do?” Cordelia said. “They were able to strike a deal with someone - one of the parents, maybe.”

“Parents seemed legit,” Gunn said.

“How many people would have access to a little boy’s room, though?” Cordelia argued. “It would have to be someone who knows the family well or someone in the family itself.”

“Stephen,” Andrew said quietly. Everyone looked at him, and Andrew shifted nervously under their combined gazes. “My brother used to threaten to summon up hellhounds to devour me in my sleep. Sometimes I even would come home to find he’d drawn some sort of sigil on my door. He was just teasing me like older brothers do. Then he really did summon up some hellhounds and kept them in our basement, but I don’t think he did it on purpose. Fine print on demonology books can be hard to read sometimes, you know. Maybe Stephen found the spell and didn’t realise what it would do.”

“Stephen definitely didn’t seem too broken up about his brother,” Angel said. “New plan: we’re going to keep working on summoning a V’raknar here and see if we can get any information. Cordelia, you go to the family’s house and see if you can talk to Stephen alone. See if he knows more about his brother’s disappearance than he’s letting on.”

Fred and Jonathan went down into the basement, clearing out a wide circle so that they would have plenty of room to work in. The spell would require only the chalk sigil, no extra ingredients or steps. Before they started on the summoning spell, however, they set up a containment perimeter to prevent the demon from breaking free.

“Ready?” Jonathan asked Fred.

“Ready.” She sighed. “I wish Wes were here. He’s better at spells than I am. I don’t really have the magical touch - I’m more of a science and facts kinda gal.”

“Oh,” Jonathan said, unsure how to respond. “Well, um, I think it’s going to work.”

Fred’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Good.”

Angel joined them, watching as Jonathan carefully drew the sigil. When it was almost complete, Jonathan looked to Andrew, who was standing in the shadows. He nodded and stepped forward. His face looked a little peculiar - a little green - but his jaw was set to that stubborn angle Jonathan recognised so well. Jonathan drew the last little bit of the sigil, preparing himself.

A demon appeared. It was not as tall as Jonathan thought it would be, but still had plenty of bulk. It had sharp spikes along its neck and shoulders, a bit like the ridges on a Cardassian. It surveyed them with a sharp eye before announcing something in V’raknarian.

“Tosk lern fell je’n kqe,” Andrew replied. In an aside to the rest of the group he explained, “He wanted to know what we lowly mortals mean by summoning him. I told him we need information.”

“Irsk dan’n far ne ghe san fell,” the V’raknar said.

“He said our needs don’t concern him,” Andrew translated.

Angel cracked his knuckles. “It’s going to concern him after I knock a few teeth out of his mouth.”

The V’raknar grinned widely, showing dozens of shark-like teeth. “I would like to see you try, vampire scum,” he said in heavily accented English.

“Listen, buddy, we can do this the easy way or the hard way,” Angel said. He moved into a fighting stance.

Jonathan nudged Andrew, who was too entranced by the exchange to notice. Jonathan pulled him back a few steps, out of harm’s way should the situation come to blows. They had weapons nearby, but not close enough that Andrew could grab, aim, and fire his crossbow before the demon sent him flying across the room if it so chose.

“Some of your people kidnapped a little boy,” Angel was continuing. “Presumably for a ritual. We want to know where.”

The demon lunged, but Jonathan was prepared. He threw up a magical barrier, which tossed the demon backwards. It turned its sharp, blue eyes towards Jonathan. “Skrent,” it hissed. Jonathan didn’t need Andrew’s translation to know that it was not a nice word.

“Jonathan,” Angel said, without looking at him. Jonathan dropped the barrier while the demon was distracted and Angel pounced. Andrew rushed over to his crossbow, but he couldn’t risk accidentally hitting Angel. There were wild punches and flailing limbs as the vampire and demon rolled around on the floor. Something broke with a sharp  _ crack _ and the demon let out a screech of pain. 

“Where did they take him?” Angel snarled, pinning the demon against the floor. “Where is the ritual being performed?”

“Fren skist nex nal’hn,” the demon spat, which Andrew helpfully translated to mean, “Your mother has no temper.”

“Is that even an insult?” Jonathan couldn’t help but wonder. Andrew shrugged.

Angel punched the demon squarely in its mouth, which proved to be a mistake. The demon’s sharp teeth tore open Angel’s knuckles, and the demon itself seemed unaffected by the punch. In fact, it just laughed as Angel swore and shook out his damaged hand.

“Aim for the sternum,” Andrew called to Angel. The next punch, left-handed and directly in the middle of the demon’s chest, tore the smile off the demon’s face. It’s blue eyes flew wide and it gasped for breath.

Angel backed off slightly. “Where did they take the boy?” he asked again.

The demon said several strained words. These did not sound like insults, and Angel turned to Andrew for interpretation.

“Great metal dragons,” Andrew translated, looking bewildered. “Dead trees bound by contained fire. The ocean nearby. That’s all he knows.”

“Metal dragons?” Angel echoed. “What -?”

“The Port of Los Angeles Railyard,” Cordelia said, careening down the stairs. “Metal dragons are the trains.”

“You’re sure?” Angel asked, already moving. Jonathan quickly swiped away part of the sigil with his foot and said the word that effectively banished the demon back to its homeworld.

Cordelia flashed him a grim smile. “You’d be surprised what a teenage boy will tell a pretty girl with cleavage. Stephen was the one who summoned the V’raknars. They promised him wealth and a cure for his acne if he gave them access to a little boy for their ritual.”

“So he gave them his own brother?” Gunn demanded, appalled. He had followed Cordelia down the stairs. “That’s cold.”

“C’mon,” Angel said, waving his arms to get everyone to move back upstairs. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

Andrew was uncharacteristically quiet as they gathered weapons and worked out a plan that basically amounted to “find the ritual spot and kill the demons.” Jonathan knew Tucker Wells well enough and had heard enough stories about growing up in the same household as him to put together a few pieces of what sort of brother he was: manipulative, lying, bullying - sometimes downright abusive. But Jonathan also knew that Andrew worshipped him. Or at least he had as of not all that long ago. The only thing Jonathan wasn’t sure about was whether or not their recent turn to the side of good had made Andrew realise what a piece of shit Tucker was. His words excusing what Tucker had done with the hellhounds suggested some of the hero worship remained, but the following silence seemed to belie what he had previously said.

If anyone else noticed Andrew acting strangely, they did not mention it. The sun was almost down, and the ritual would start shortly thereafter. The group piled into Angel’s car and Gunn’s truck, Angel carefully hidden beneath layers of clothing. This was going to be a full-team mission; they had no idea how many demons were necessary for the ritual, but they had to assume the worst. Traffic was still a little heavy on the roads, so the drive was longer than they would have liked, and Angel was starting to get antsy by the time they pulled into the railyard.

“Split up,” he instructed them. “They could be anywhere. Cordelia, Gunn, Andrew, and Lorne - you guys go that way.” He pointed northward. “Jonathan, Fred, and I will head south. If you guys see them first, call -”

“I see them,” Gunn interrupted. He pointed northwest, where a couple of flickering lights were moving in the distance. “Bet you anything that’s them.”

Angel squinted with his enhanced eyes. “You’re right. Okay, new plan - haul ass over there and get the boy out of harm’s way before taking out the demons. Let’s go!”

They raced over rail tracks and darted between train cars, trying to avoid being seen by demons and guards alike. It was almost completely dark by now, and the railyard was poorly lit. Jonathan did not want to use an illumination spell and give away their position. Thanks to Andrew, they knew that the V’raknars’ weak spot was their sternum.

Jonathan tried his best to keep up, but the spells he used to keep his asthma under control was not made for hard sprints. Bouts of fighting were no problem, but anything that required sustained momentum was too much for his lungs. He quickly fell behind, and by the time he reached the ritual area everyone else was engaged in combat. There were over a dozen V’raknars, and only two of them had been taken out of commission. Jonathan dodged angry V’raknars and flying bodies and wild arrows to the center of the hubbub and scooped up the terrified child. Tyler squirmed and Jonathan nearly dropped him, but he managed to stagger away from the circle of fighting without being noticed or targeted.

Jonathan half-carried, half-dragged sobbing Tyler behind a nearby empty train car. “Stay...here…” Jonathan gasped, but he could not fight in this condition. He couldn’t even cast any spells that required words right now. He had to calm down to get his breathing under control, but it wasn’t working. His chest moved, but no air reached his lungs. He fought hard, his mind beginning to succumb to the instinctive panic of  _ I can’t breathe I’m going to die _ .

Jonathan quickly patted down his pockets. No inhaler. He had grown out of the habit of taking it everywhere with him. He dug into his mage bag instead, pulled out a pinch of fine yellow powder, placed it on his throat with his head tipped backwards, and whispered a word through his inflamed lungs. Pyvain root didn’t have quite the same punch as his inhaler, but it was better than nothing. At least Jonathan could speak now and shout if necessary.

But he didn’t plan to shout; he wanted to do the opposite. It was a miracle none of the V’raknar had chased after them, and he was going to use this to his advantage to get Tyler out of harm’s way. But first he needed Tyler to calm down.

“Tyler, listen to me,” Jonathan hissed urgently. “Your parents hired me and my friends to get you home safely, and we’re going to do that but you need to stop crying.”

Tyler’s sobs continued to wrack his little body. Jonathan peered around the train car and saw one of the V’raknar had broken away from the fighting and was heading towards them. The rest of the team was too engaged in combat to notice. Jonathan grabbed Tyler by the shoulders, trying to get him to understand how dire the situation is.

“Tyler, please,” he pleaded. “I want to help you but you have to be quiet.”

Tyler’s only response was to curl in on himself.

“Jonathan!” Andrew shouted.

Jonathan glanced out at the battlefield once more. The V’raknar had figured out where they were now and was coming at them as fast as it could. A bolt from Andrew’s crossbow glanced off one of its shoulder spikes, not even slowing it down. The V’raknar let out a triumphant cry as it caught sight of Jonathan, who quickly darted back. He had to do something fast.

Jonathan closed his eyes - a rather risky move at this juncture - and concentrated with every fiber of his being on the energies flowing around him. The train car rattled and shuddered - and then with a strained metallic groan, it launched forward and smashed into the V’raknar, effectively crushing it.

Beside him, at last, Tyler hiccuped himself into awed silence. “How did you do that?” he whispered.

“Magic,” Jonathan answered distractedly. He didn’t mention he had only meant to tear off part of the car’s siding to hit the V’raknar with, not the entire thing. But it certainly got the job done. He grabbed Tyler’s hand. “Can you run?”

“I’m the third fastest in my class,” Tyler said, pride shining through his wavering voice.

“Good,” Jonathan said. He knelt down by Tyler’s side so he could point the little boy in the exact direction of the vehicles. “Follow where my hand is pointing. Head straight in that direction and run as fast as you can until you reach a big, scary looking truck. It looks scary, but it’s there to protect you. Get into the cab and lock the doors and hide under the dashboard. I’ll be right behind you making sure no monsters come after you. Can you do that?”

Tyler’s eyes filled with tears. “No,” he cried. “I want my mommy and daddy.”

“You will see them soon,” Jonathan said, trying to keep the exasperation from his voice. “But I can’t run as fast as you. So you show me how fast you can run and how well you can hide. Go for the truck, okay? You have to be a big boy.”

“Like Stephen?” Tyler asked, eyes filled with admiration. Jonathan’s heart sank; Tyler didn’t know his big brother was the reason he was here in the first place.

“Sure,” he said. “Like Stephen. Show him how brave you are.” Jonathan pointed in the direction of the truck once more. “Run straight that way, don’t go right or left, and the truck will be right ahead of you.”

Tyler nodded once, face set in determination, and took off exactly where Jonathan pointed him, running as fast as his little legs could carry him. Jonathan grabbed his mage kit and jogged after him, keeping one eye on the fight and the other eye on Tyler, running between flickering lampposts. Another V’raknar tried to break away from the group and go after Jonathan, but Cordelia took it down with a sword straight through its chest. In the distance, Tyler reached the truck, wrenched open the door, and climbed inside. Jonathan would have sighed with relief if he weren’t completely winded.

By the time Jonathan reached the area where the cars were parked, the Pyvain had worn off and he was struggling to breathe again. He checked the doors to make sure they were locked, peered down at Tyler, who was hiding as best as he could under the dashboard on the passenger’s side, and flashed him a thumbs up. Tyler gave him a shaky one in return.

Jonathan climbed into the bed of the truck and stared out at the railyard from over the top of the cab. He could see the lay of the battle from this angle, and it was clear that Angel Investigations was winning, but just barely. They needed a sweeping advantage - something that would end this fight soon, before anyone got seriously hurt.  _ Come on, _ Jonathan berated himself.  _ Think, idiot. You must know a spell that will help. _

An engine roared nearby, startling Jonathan out of his thoughts. A single light made a beeline for them; Jonathan ducked down, hoping he wasn’t about to be spotted by security or something. Then again, the fight between five (seeming) humans, a green-skinned demon, and half a dozen spiky demons would probably attract security’s attention before a short guy standing in the bed of a truck.

A motorcycle rattled up to the El Camino and Jonathan knew even before the blinding front light shut off that it was Wesley. How he had known about this case or where they would be, Jonathan couldn’t even begin to guess. He was like an ex-boyfriend stalking the girl he claimed had broken his heart and he was totally over.

Wes grabbed an axe from the saddle bag and ran out into the fray without looking at or acknowledging Jonathan. It was possible he just didn’t see him there standing in the back of the truck, but Jonathan didn’t have time to wonder about it. He watched, still trying to come up with a spell that would turn the tides on this battle.

He need not have bothered. Wesley’s help was just what the group needed: with the extra weapon, they were able to overpower and defeat the remaining V’raknars. Jonathan continued to stand guard over the truck and Tyler; as soon as the last V’raknar fell, Jonathan jumped out of the truck bed and jogged back out into the railyard. His chest twinged but his lungs were okay - for now. As long as he didn’t overstrain himself.

When he reached the group, they were piling the unconscious or dead bodies of the fallen V’raknar in one spot. Andrew, Jonathan noted immediately, was limping, and Gunn had a large gash on his right shoulder. Everyone else seemed unhurt but a little weary. Wesley focused on his work and refused to talk to anyone.

“Jonathan,” Angel said. “Where’s Tyler?”

Jonathan pointed back where the vehicles were parked. “Hiding under the truck dashboard. The doors are locked.” He turned to Andrew. “Are you okay?”

“I twisted my ankle,” Andrew told him, whimpering with every step he took. He looked tired and unhappy.

“Can you get rid of these guys?” Angel asked. Normally he would ask Andrew to do anything demon-related, but not while injured like this. Jonathan was the next best choice.

“Uh, hold on,” Jonathan said. He cast one more worried look at Andrew, but there was nothing he could do for him right now. Instead, he pulled chalk out of his mage kit, drew a few designs onto the ground around the V’raknars, and spoke the words that would banish them to the same place as their kinsman from before. When the last demon was gone, Angel motioned for everyone to head back to the vehicles. “Let’s get Tyler home,” he said.

Jonathan moved deftly over to Andrew’s injured side and grabbed his arm. “Lean on me,” he instructed. The height difference was a little awkward, but at least Andrew was able to take some of the weight off his ankle and hobble back to the El Camino with significantly less whining.

“What’s going to happen to Tyler?” Andrew asked as they made their way slowly after the others.

“He’s going to go home,” Jonathan panted. He concentrated just as much on his breathing as he was on making sure Andrew didn’t put too much weight on his ankle. “Eventually he might even forget this ever happened.”

“Good.” Andrew smiled, but then he frowned again. “Then what’s going to happen to Stephen?”

“I don’t know,” Jonathan admitted. “I guess that’s going to depend on the parents. They might not even believe Stephen had anything to do with this. Or they might send him away somewhere.”

“Where?” Andrew persisted.

“I don’t know,” Jonathan admitted. He shifted ever so slightly closer to Andrew under the pretense of taking on more of his weight, and wrapped his arm tighter around Andrew’s waist. “But I hope somewhere he can’t hurt Tyler anymore, because Tyler deserves better. Big brothers are supposed to protect their little brothers, not offer them up for demonic sacrifice. Tyler shouldn’t have been subjected to that kind of evil.”

Andrew was silent for several moments. “Yeah,” he said at last. “I think you’re right.”

By the time they finally reached the truck, Gunn had unlocked the doors but he was having a difficult time convincing Tyler that he could come out from under the dashboard. As soon as the little boy saw Jonathan, however, he launched himself out from his cramped position and latched onto Jonathan’s knees. Jonathan, now supporting the weight of both Andrew and Tyler, nearly toppled over. He staggered, just barely managing to stay upright.

“I wanna go home,” Tyler whimpered.

“You will,” Jonathan promised. “My friends are going to take you to a nice hotel and your parents are going to pick you up there. They’re nice people. I would come with you, but I have to get my friend here home so we can bandage his ankle.”

Tyler regarded Andrew solemnly. “My mommy gives me Pokemon bandaids when I have a boo-boo.”

“Uh, cool,” Jonathan told him, unsure what else to say.

“Come on, Tyler,” Fred said kindly, holding out her hand. “Let’s go see your mommy and daddy, okay?”

Tyler eyed her distrustfully for a moment before taking her hand. Jonathan helped Andrew climb into the truck with Gunn as the other piled into the El Camino and Wesley started up his bike.

\---

Back at the apartment at last, Andrew collapsed onto the couch while Dennis rushed around them, piling bandages and herbs up on the coffee table. Andrew removed his shoe and sock, revealing a rather purple and slightly swollen ankle. Jonathan hissed sympathetically and began work on a poultice that would help reduce the swelling. “Does it look like anything is broken?” he asked Dennis.

Dennis replied in the negative. Just a sprain. Jonathan fortified his mixture with bone-strengthening spells anyway, just in case. When the poultice was ready, he applied it to Andrew’s ankle and carefully wrapped it up with elastic bandage. “Keep it elevated as much as possible,” Jonathan suggested. “Uh, it’s probably too late to find a place that rents crutches or anything, so try not to put any weight on it.”

Andrew’s eyes lit up. “The dollar store sells walking sticks with dragons heads on them. Can I get one of those tomorrow?”

Jonathan grinned. “That would be so cool. Need anything for right now?”

“I don’t think so,” Andrew said. Jonathan waited, knowing that as soon as he moved, Andrew would think of at least five things. “Oh, wait, can you bring me a snack? I think we still have some tortilla chips left. And where’s the remote? Want to watch television?”

Jonathan went into the kitchen to grab the chips and some juice for Andrew, but he declined the invitation to watch television. He really wanted to change his clothes and lie down for a while; the asthma attack earlier had left him uneasy and exhausted. He went into his bedroom and pulled out a change of clothes, but when he turned around again he found a washcloth, a bowl of water, and a bottle of rubbing alcohol hovering near his head. He took a step back.

“What are those for?” he asked. “I’m not hurt.”

The washcloth brushed against Jonathan’s neck, and he hissed in pain. He brought his hand up to gingerly inspect the area: sure enough, there was a cut about three inches long from the side of his neck trailing down to his shoulder. “How the hell did that get there?” he demanded rhetorically. He didn’t remember getting cut.

Dennis tugged at Jonathan’s shirt, silently indicating he should take it off so Dennis could clean the wound. “I can do it myself, you know,” Jonathan grumbled, but he obediently pulled off it off anyway, wincing as pain flared on his neck. Now that he was aware of the cut, it throbbed dully. Jonathan sat on his bed, neck tilted slightly to give Dennis better access.

Dennis applied rubbing alcohol to the cloth and carefully drew it over the cut. Jonathan hissed slightly. The pain was not too bad, but it certainly wasn’t pleasant either. Once the area was disinfected, Dennis dipped the washcloth into the water and wiped away the rest of the dirt, sweat, and grime Jonathan had picked up running around a dirty railyard and hiding behind a train car. His strokes were soft and even, washing Jonathan from neck to waistband, both front and back.

Jonathan was used to being shirtless in front of Dennis by now. He was slightly less used to being touched this intimately. He closed his eyes and forced himself to relax.  _ It’s just Dennis _ , he reminded his tense body.  _ He just wants to help _ . Slowly, each muscle unwound and Jonathan felt himself melting into the washcloth’s calm strokes.

When Dennis finished with Jonathan’s torso, he moved up to Jonathan’s face and drew the cloth across his brow. Jonathan’s lips parted ever so slightly, and his breathing became slightly erratic. This felt less like a cleansing touch and more like a soft caress. With his eyes closed, Jonathan’s mind could easily conjure up a fantasy that someone who genuinely loved him was touching him, caressing him, taking care of him. Making sure he was relaxed and comfortable. Jonathan’s hips jerked slightly of their own accord, and his eyes flew open, embarrassed. He scrambled away.

“Thank you,” he said, hoping Dennis hadn’t noticed his body’s eager reaction to his ministrations. “I think you got m-most of it. I’m going to sleep now. Would, uh, you mind checking on Andrew and making sure he doesn’t need anything?”

Dennis nodded his okay with the washcloth before setting it down in the bowl of water and leaving Jonathan’s room, closing the door behind him. Jonathan’s heart was pounding. He’d almost made a complete idiot of himself. He climbed under the blankets, but his body was too wired to relax in spite of his exhaustion.

Dimly, he wondered if he had scared Dennis off so badly he wouldn’t visit Jonathan in his dreams tonight. He ignored the way his heart twisted with sadness at the thought. It took a long time for him to finally fall asleep.


	17. Chapter 17

Things should have been awkward between Jonathan and Dennis after the near-incident, but Dennis showed up in his dreams like usual that night. If he had noticed Jonathan’s strange reaction, he never mentioned it. Soon, Jonathan was able to forget about it as well; he was still a young man with a perfectly functional body. Gone may be the teenage days of random boners when a girl so much as glanced his way, but Dennis had been touching him fairly intimately and it had been a while since Jonathan had last relieved his tension. It was a bit like the morning wood he sometimes sported after a night of talking to Dennis in his dreams: the two things were coincidental but not directly related.

Through Dennis, Jonathan learned more about the Seal of Danzalthar. He knew where it was located and that it would be key in the upcoming apocalypse. And he knew that he was one of few people who could open it and help Buffy save the world. He just didn’t know how yet. Dennis always withdrew before he got to that part.

Dennis never mentioned their time in Jonathan’s dreams out in the waking world, and Jonathan hesitated to bring it up. Making himself visible - even just in sleep - seemed to drain Dennis’ energy. He was never around when Jonathan woke up the following morning and Jonathan left for work before he came back. By the time Jonathan and Andrew came home in the evening, Dennis would have returned and cooked them a hearty dinner. Jonathan had no idea if Andrew still dreamed about Warren and he didn’t dare ask. He dreaded the answer. Instead, he focused on work and repairing their friendship, which was slowly going back to what it had been before the jetpack revelation.

Theirs wasn’t the only friendship under reconstruction. After the case with Tyler, Wesley finally seemed to give up his cold war standoff with the Angel Investigations team. His reintegration into the work dynamic was slow and awkward but he was around more, sometimes showing up for a full workday, acting as if he was doing them a huge favour by providing his presence. It made for a crowded office area, but fortunately the hotel was big and business was picking up again. Word spread that Angel was back in town, and there would be some days where Jonathan would finish one case just in time to pick up another. He managed to earn enough money to finally buy a car, albeit a clunky old behemoth Gunn started affectionately calling Old Granny.

It wasn’t Jonathan’s ideal life, but he was happy.

Of course, for Jonathan Levinson - the universe’s personal lightning rod of hate - that happiness couldn’t last.

On a rare day off from Angel Investigations, Jonathan and Andrew decided to do something they hadn’t done in a long time: Star Wars marathon. It took on a new, grave importance when Dennis revealed he had never seen any of the Star Wars movies.

Andrew’s jaw dropped. “Not even one? Not even  _ A New Hope _ ?”

Dennis shook his pen in the negative. Andrew turned wide eyes upon Jonathan. “He hasn’t seen any of the Star Wars movies, Jonathan,” he said as if Jonathan hadn’t been in the same room this whole time. “How is that even possible? What sort of cretins have lived in this apartment that never watch Star Wars?”

“Cordy is one of those cretins,” Jonathan reminded him evenly. He wasn’t sure when he had slipped into the habit of calling Cordelia by her nickname like everyone else around him, but when he caught himself doing it he felt a small surge of pride. He’d been a social nobody all his life, and now he was on a nickname basis with the Queen of Sunnydale herself. Of course, she was a bit of a social nobody herself these days, but then again she had most recently been a demigoddess. That was even better.

“I didn’t mean Cordy,” Andrew squawked indignantly. “She gets a pass because she was too busy saving the world and stuff - a defender of justice and peace, just like a Jedi knight herself. It’s been 25 years since  _ A New Hope _ came out, you guys. And in all that time, not a single tenant of this apartment has popped it into the VCR? That’s beyond cretinism. That’s just plain unnatural. Jonathan, I think this apartment is cursed.”

N-O E-X-O-R-C-I-S-M P-L-E-A-S-E, Dennis requested.

“Agreed,” Jonathan said, sliding  _ A New Hope _ out of its VCR sleeve. They’d been able to get the digitally remastered VHS copies of the original trilogy for fairly cheap, since everyone seemed to be making the transition to DVDs. Fortunately, Cordelia’s television had both DVD and VCR players built right in.

“We can’t start with Episode IV,” Andrew protested when he saw what Jonathan was doing. “We have to start at the beginning.”

“This is the beginning,” Jonathan said, frowning. “You said so yourself - it came out 25 years ago. It’s the oldest.”

“But chronologically speaking, Episode I is the beginning of the story. And shouldn’t we get the worst movies out of the way first so we don’t have to end on  _ Attack of the Clones _ ?” Andrew countered.

“But what about the you-know-what plot twist in Episode V?” Jonathan demanded. “We don’t want to accidentally spoil Dennis.”

Andrew groaned. “He won’t be. I mean it’s not really obvious or anything. I think it’ll be fine.”

Jonathan was about to open his mouth to argue further when the video left his hand of its own accord and floated over to the VCR. The channel changed to the correct video input, and the movie started to play. Dennis pressed pause before it could get too far.

“Dennis agrees with me,” Jonathan told Andrew, smirking. It was nice to have a tiebreaker around who actually agreed with Jonathan on occasion.

Andrew stuck his tongue out at Jonathan. “Fine, but I’m not putting any extra butter on your popcorn.” He stalked into the kitchen to make bowls of popcorn, pretzels, and candy. Jonathan poured them each a large glass of soda. By the end of the last movie, they will have gone through two large bottles of soda and would be absolutely wired on caffeine and sugar.

Jonathan couldn’t wait until the last movie would come out, but there were rumours that wouldn’t be until 2005. He was excited to see it in the theater when it was released, of course, but more importantly he loved the idea of getting a brand new DVD and bringing it home to watch with Dennis and Andrew. They would watch the entire series in one fell swoop and by the end of the marathon their eyes would be gummy, their asses sore, and they would be full of junk food and careful analyses of every moment.

2005 didn’t seem so far away as it had just three months ago. Jonathan grinned as the familiar Star Wars Overture began to play and the background information scrolled over the screen.

Throughout all five movies, Jonathan kept half an eye on Dennis’ reactions. His presence was a constant chill against Jonathan’s left side and he seemed riveted to the action on screen. He rattled his version of laughter at Han and Leia’s bickering, banged his disapproval at Obi-Wan being struck down by Vader, and when Vader revealed his relationship to Luke in the bowels of Cloud City a sheaf of papers flew off Jonathan’s desk and exploded in the middle of the room in what Jonathan could only interpret as excited surprise. When each movie ended, Dennis put the next one in without rewinding the old one first, and ignored Jonathan and Andrew’s protests that they needed a bathroom break.

By the time the end credits rolled on Attack of the Clones, Andrew was blinking sleepily and Jonathan stretched out cramped muscles. “I can’t believe you didn’t know Vader was Luke’s father,” Jonathan teased Dennis. “Even if you’ve never seen the movies before, you must have heard that quote at  _ some  _ point.”

Dennis shook his favourite pen in the negative. Andrew nodded solemnly. “He saw it the way it’s meant to be seen: with no previous cultural expectations. He is probably the only person in the 21st century who can still claim to be genuinely surprised by that revelation. He saw it as George Lucas always intended it to be seen.” He paused, then added, “But I don’t think you’re actually supposed to like Jar Jar that much.”

B-U-T F-U-N-N-Y, Dennis protested.

Jonathan raised an eyebrow. “Maybe if you’re about three years old.”

S-O Y-O-U A-G-R-E-E, Dennis rejoined.

The problem with a snarky ghost was that you couldn’t throw anything at him when you ran out of retorts, Jonathan reflected. Instead, he snatched Dennis’ pen out of the air and shoved it into his back pocket, then sat down to make it harder for him to retrieve the pen. “Bite me,” he said.

Dennis grabbed a nearby chip clip and snapped it at Jonathan, as if pretending to bite him. Jonathan laughed and hunched down further, refusing to relinquish the pen. “You wouldn’t dare,” he taunted.

Jonathan was fairly sure he was right that Dennis didn’t want to actually hurt him (he knew from experience that chip clips had a wicked pinch), but he hadn’t counted on an unexpected ally joining the fray.

“I’ll rescue your pen!” Andrew cried, launching himself at Jonathan and wrestling him off the couch. With the pen no longer between Jonathan’s ass and the couch cushions, Dennis was free to swipe it out of his back pocket with a swift, cold breeze. Jonathan tried to wiggle out of Andrew’s grip, but he was laughing too hard to make any sort of concentrated effort. So he did the only thing possible: he tickled Andrew’s ribs.

Andrew shrieked and propelled away from Jonathan so fast he nearly hit his head on the coffee table.

“That’ll teach you to gang up on me,” Jonathan panted.

Dennis uncapped his pen and made threatening movements at Jonathan, like he was going to draw on his face. Jonathan yelled and dove for the nearest pillow to fend off the ink. Dennis swiped and left a blue slash on Jonathan’s right hand. Jonathan writhed dramatically on the floor, clutching his hand - the pillow lay abandoned by his head.

“He got me,” Jonathan moaned, faking a slow death. “Poisoned...blood poisoning...by highly toxic ink. I only have moments to live. Goodbye, world.”

Andrew crawled over to him and took his marred hand in both of his own. “Oh, what cruel fate,” he cried. “If only there were a cure for this type of poisoning! Alas, there is not!”

A cheeto floated over to Jonathan’s mouth and poked at his lips. Jonathan tried to keep his lips firmly clamped shut, but the more the chip poked at him the more he couldn’t keep a straight face. The moment he broke into a fit of giggles, the cheeto forced itself into his mouth. He chewed furiously and swallowed.

“A miracle!” he cried, but the ridiculous energy from before had left his body and he felt a sleepy contentment stealing over him. “I’m alive. You saved my life, Dennis. However will I repay you?”

W-I-L-L T-H-I-N-K. G-E-T B-A-C-K T-O Y-O-U.

Jonathan snorted. “Okay, you do that. My life is indebted to you.”

Andrew let go of Jonathan’s hand and leaned against the couch, yawning. Jonathan yawned immediately after. “I think I’m going to go to bed,” Jonathan said, but he didn’t move. He almost missed the days of camping out on the couch-nest. At least then he wouldn’t have to get up to go to bed. Still, it was a lot nicer sleeping on a bed than the floor. He pushed himself to his feet. “Goodnight,” he told Andrew and waved a sleepy farewell to where he assumed Dennis was.

“Goodnight,” Andrew echoed. He roused himself enough to start closing the chips and putting away the debris of their feast.

Jonathan stumbled into his bedroom and changed into his pyjamas before collapsing onto the bed. Maybe tomorrow if there was still some downtime, he and Andrew could drive out of the city in the Old Granny. It had been months since they had left the city in any way that didn’t involve work. They could head out into the desert or maybe drive up the coast for a while. Or maybe he could go on a solo adventure. He could stand some time truly by himself.

A couple minutes after Jonathan climbed under the covers, the temperature dropped a couple degrees, signalling that Dennis had come into the room. “Goodnight, Dennis,” Jonathan murmured.

Dennis didn’t respond, but Jonathan didn’t notice; he was already asleep.

_ Jonathan finds himself in the same place he’s been dreaming of at least every other day for a few weeks now: the basement of Sunnydale High School in front of the Seal of Danzalthar. At least, that’s where he assumes he is, but the floor is not disturbed like it usually is and there is no sign of the Seal. And there is no sign of Dennis. Normally he is waiting patiently for Jonathan to arrive, but tonight he is nowhere to be seen. _

_ Jonathan waits for a minute, but even in dreams just standing around not doing anything is boring, so he heads for the stairs that lead to the main part of the school. It’s all deserted. He isn’t sure which way he should go, but it doesn’t seem like it will matter one way or another. He turns left and heads down the hallway to the old library. _

_ It is empty of books but not the way it was on Graduation Day when the books had all been replaced by explosives. It’s just empty. It looks terrifying in its blankness, like the shelves are toothless maws ready to chew him up and spit him out. A sound in the upper level draws his attention, but he must steel his nerves before climbing the stairs. Whatever is up there fills him with intense dread. _

_ A thump. A pause. Another thump. Pause. Thump. Pause. Jonathan follows the sound into one of the stacks. Up here, some of the books have already been returned to their shelves, and it puts Jonathan more at ease. He finds the source of the noise: a girl with long brown hair is putting books back in their proper places, one at a time. He cannot see her face, but he knows who she is. He wants to turn and flee, but at that moment she looks up and her eyes meet his. He cannot look away. _

_ “Tara,” he says but it’s more like a miserable moan. She blinks at him with soulful eyes that seem to see right through him. _

_ “J-Jonathan,” she stammers. He winces at the hesitation in her voice. _

_ “I-I-I’m sorry,” Jonathan says, stumbling back a step. “I’ll leave you alone.” _

_ “Wait,” she calls and this time there is no stutter, just a clear command. Her voice echoes around the empty library, surrounding Jonathan on every side and trapping him in place. “I n-need to talk to you.” _

_ A hundred questions occur to Jonathan: why me?, about what?, and why here? are all at the top of his list, but what comes bubbling out instead is something else entirely. _

_ “Where’s Dennis?” _

_ Tara gives him a sorrowful look. “He couldn’t bear to be here tonight. So I came in his place. It’s time we talk about the final step in your quest towards redemption.” She puts another book on the shelf. _

_ “Do you want some help with that?” Jonathan asks belatedly. It’s an awfully big undertaking for just one person to fill this whole library one shelf at a time. _

_ “No,” Tara says. She puts the last book from the box at her feet in place and dusts off her hands. One box down, hundreds more to go. “This is my task to complete, not yours. You have a different job to take on. You’re going to help end the apocalypse.” _

_ Jonathan swallows. Hearing Dennis talk about opening the Seal of Danzalthar and what it would mean for helping Buffy is one thing, but hearing the same words from Tara Maclay’s mouth gives it a whole new meaning. It feels overwhelming, impossible. “I don’t know if I can,” he admits. “I’m not that good of a mage. Willow…” He bites his tongue, angry at himself for bringing her up. _

_ But Tara just shakes her head. “Willow can’t do this. You’re one of very few people who can. You don’t even need to be a mage to do it. Come on.” She emerged from between the stacks and beckoned Jonathan to follow her downstairs. _

_ Jonathan trails several steps behind her, enough distance that she repeatedly looks back to make sure he is still following her. Every time her eyes meet his, he looks away, ashamed. He would much rather be talking to Dennis right now. He wonders what Dennis could possibly not want to tell him. Things had felt so normal just an hour ago when Jonathan had been awake. Did Dennis know all this time this was coming? _

_ They left the library but instead of heading back to the Seal, they walked to the front door and stepped outside. It was broad daylight, with bright sunshine beaming down on them. On the school’s front steps are children of all ages, and their parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, neighbours, pets, and wildlife. Everyone is laughing and playing. _

_ “Just a reminder of what you’ll be saving,” Tara murmurs. _

_ A young boy sits alone on the steps near Jonathan. He looks a bit like Jonathan did at that age: small, quiet, and awkward. Unsure of how to approach the kids around him having so much fun. Watchful and unnoticed. _

_ But then something happens that never happened for Jonathan - another boy approaches and introduces himself. He gestures to his friends who are playing catch down on the front lawn. The first boy grins and runs down to join them. _

_ Jonathan looks at Tara, finally able to meet her eyes. He is resolved. “What do I have to do?” _

_ He blinks and they are in the basement. The Seal is uncovered once more. Tara leans down to run one finger along the intricate designs. “The Seal requires blood. Enough blood to fill all these canals. It will take several liters.” _

_ Jonathan’s mouth feels dry and he is lightheaded. “A blood bank or from the butcher…” _

_ Tara shakes her head, her hair swinging lightly around her face. “It has to be fresh, human blood. Pig’s blood could be used if there’s not enough, but the initial amount has to be human and it has to be straight from the source.” _

_ “You want me to kill someone to stop the apocalypse?” Jonathan squeaks. _

_ Tara looks up at him. “If I thought you capable of doing so, yes. But you’re not a murderer, Jonathan Levinson. There is only one person you would willingly kill.” _

_ There is a sharp twinge on his wrist, and he holds up his arms to examine them in the dim light. Wounds gape along his veins, deep enough to show bone underneath. “No,” he moans. _

_ Tara stands up. “Yes. You must die so that the world can live. Nobody else can do it. You’re our only hope.” _

_ Thoughts whirl around Jonathan’s mind, making him dizzy and nauseous. “Dennis,” he says, clinging to the only thing that makes sense in all of this. “Where’s Dennis?” _

_ “You can see him if you want,” Tara tells him calmly. “But he didn’t want to have to be the one to convince you to kill yourself. Even though he knows it’s for the good of the world and that ultimately you’ll be better off for it, he couldn’t bear to say the words.” _

_ “I want to see him,” Jonathan says. “I have to see him.” _

_ “Okay,” Tara agrees steadily. “But first, there is someone else who has a few words to say to you.” She points behind Jonathan. _

_ He turns around. Whatever he expects it is not this vision that immediately weakens his knees and sends his mind into a blind panic. _

_ “Oh god,” he moans. “Oh god oh god oh god…” _

_ Katrina sneers at him. “Not quite. Guess again.” _

_ “Katrina…” Jonathan starts, but what could he possibly say? Tara is one thing - he had no direct involvement in her death. But this…. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers. _

_ Katrina surveys him without flinching. “I know you are,” she admits. “That’s why you’re going to do this. You’re going to sacrifice yourself because you know it’s the right thing to do, and it will prove to Buffy and everyone that you’re truly sorry for what you did.” _

_ Jonathan doesn’t need to think it over anymore. He’s ready. “Okay,” he says. _

_ “Good.” She gives him a pitying look. “At least you won’t have to be alone when you die, like I was. Dennis says he wants to stay with you.” _

_ It is far more than he deserves, and he is humbled by the thought. “What do I have to do?” _

_ “You start by waking up.” _

Jonathan opened his eyes. He was in his perfectly ordinary bed in his perfectly ordinary bedroom in a perfectly ordinary apartment. It was all familiar, but it looked so different in a new light. Katrina sat on the edge of the bed, just barely visible in the dark room. The temperature was much warmer than it had been when he fell asleep.

“Let’s get moving,” Katrina said, standing up.

Jonathan sat up. The room felt deathly still. He wanted to protest that he wasn’t ready yet, but that wasn’t fair. Katrina hadn’t been ready to die either. Nor had Tara or Dennis. They’d been forced to give up their hopes, dreams, and ambitions to circumstances beyond their control. Jonathan certainly didn’t deserve any different. He pushed the covers back, glad to be wearing pyjamas. It would have been awkward to have Katrina see him in just his boxers.

“What do I need?” he asked quietly.

“A shovel, a flashlight, a knife, and a way to get to Sunnydale,” Katrina said.

“I’ve got a car,” Jonathan told her. “And a knife. But I don’t have a shovel.” He mentally sorted through the inventory of weapons at the Hyperion, trying to remember if there was anything that would be good for digging. Even if there was, though, how would he explain why he was taking it at two in the morning?

“You’ll figure something out,” Katrina said.

Jonathan slid out of bed. It felt like he should be taking more with him than just two items. “Can you, uh, go out into the hall while I change?” If he was going to die, he would not be wearing blue and green plaid pyjamas.

Katrina folded her arms over her chest and turned around. “Hurry up. We don’t have all night.”

Jonathan opened his dresser and grabbed a pair of black jeans and a black turtleneck: the perfect outfit for sneaking into a dark high school at night, he figured. He pulled off his pyjamas and slid into these clothes. “Okay.”

Katrina turned back around. “Let’s go.” She gestured for him to lead the way out of the room.

Jonathan glanced back at his room. He didn’t have a lot of stuff still, but every item in there was hard earned and he was sad to let it go. But Katrina didn’t have the patience for his nostalgia. “Time crunch,” she reminded him.

Jonathan grabbed his backpack. He opened the door as quietly as possible, and tiptoed out into the living room. He probably needn’t have bothered, since Andrew usually slept like the dead. He grabbed his mage kit, a flashlight, and a few candles, just in case.

“You don’t need all that,” Katrina said.

“I know,” he replied. It made him feel better to bring it along, though. He wondered idly who would find his body. Should he write a note explaining why he did it? Would that bring any comfort to his parents? His gut twisted uncomfortably as he thought about the grief they would have to go through. He disappeared for months without telling them, and now he would turn up dead in the basement of his former high school. He couldn’t imagine what that would feel like for them.

A thump sounded in Andrew’s room, causing Jonathan to jump. “We should go,” he whispered to Katrina.

“That’s what I’ve been saying,” she huffed in response. “Don’t forget a knife. A sharp one.”

Jonathan darted into the kitchen and pulled a fillet knife out of the knife block. It looked like it would do the trick, and he knew Andrew kept these knives sharp. He wrapped a towel around the blade and slid it into his backpack with the other supplies. When he turned back around, however, it wasn’t Katrina standing behind him but a much more familiar face.

“Dennis,” he breathed. “You’re here.”

“Of course,” Dennis said. He looked sad but resigned. “I wanted you to know how sorry I am you have to do this. If there was any other way….”

“I know,” Jonathan said. “Thank you. For...everything, I guess.”

“It takes a lot of energy to stay visible like this,” Dennis told him. “But I want to stay with you until the end.”

Something in Jonathan’s chest loosened. “I appreciate that. I’m ready.”

He left the kitchen and headed for the front door, but when he tried to turn the knob it stayed resolutely shut. He made sure the locks were fully undone, but still the handle would not budge. The knob was cold to the touch.

“Dennis, what is going on? Are you doing this?” Jonathan asked.

“Jonathan?”

Jonathan whirled around. Andrew stood in the hallway, blearily wiping sleep from his eyes. “Dennis woke me up.” He noticed the backpack in Jonathan’s hands. “Where are you going?”

Jonathan looked at Dennis, bewildered. He was standing enough in shadows that Andrew must not have seen him yet. “I have to run an errand. I’ll be back soon,” he lied. He tried the front door one more time, but it still refused to move. “Dennis, what are you doing?” he snapped at the apparition.

“It’s not me,” Dennis explained. “There is a force of evil at work here, trying to stop you from what you have to do.”

Andrew noticed Dennis for the first time, and his eyes widened. “That’s not Dennis,” he said. “It can’t be - can it?”

“Yes, it is,” Jonathan protested. It had to be. His heart thumped wildly in his chest. “Of course it is.”

“Dennis isn’t visible,” Andrew said, but he didn’t sound quite sure. Dennis just stared at him as if intrigued by what Andrew was saying, but ultimately uninterested in it. “And he’s always cold.”

“Should I prove to him I am who I say I am?” Dennis asked Jonathan. “Should I tell him the things only I would know about? Do you want him to know what you’ve told me?”

Jonathan shook his head rapidly. Behind Andrew, several objects in the living room began to rattle. Something fragile toppled and crashed to the floor, shattering loudly. Jonathan startled. “What is happening?” he demanded. He felt confused, adrift. He didn’t know who to believe.

“I told you,” Dennis said calmly. “There is something evil here pretending to be me -”

“Jonathan, that’s not Dennis it can’t be it can’t be it can’t be,” Andrew insisted. “You know this to be true! What is he trying to get you to do?”

Dennis closed his eyes, concentrating. The wind in the living room died down and now when Jonathan touched the front doorknob it was a normal temperature. “I have to do this,” he told Andrew, ignoring the question. “I have to help Buffy save the world.”

“Then I’m coming with you,” Andrew said stubbornly. “We’re in this together, remember? Whatever this thing wants you to do, I’ll do it too.”

“No,” Jonathan started to protest, but something strange was happening to Dennis. His image was flickering. The ghost’s eyes opened.

“The evil is fighting hard to banish me,” he said. “I’m not sure how much longer I can hold on. Jonathan, we have to get out of here before it tries to destroy me.”

Except, the evil thing in the living room didn’t sound so evil at all. It sounded like Dennis when he was trying to communicate. Everything was becoming muddled. Jonathan didn’t know who to believe.

“Dennis can’t become visible right? Or else he would have done so way before now,” Andrew insisted. There were tears in his eyes. “What does it want you to do? Jonathan, please, you’re scaring us.”

“Don’t tell him,” Dennis instructed Jonathan. “He’s under the influence of something very evil. It has been speaking to him through Warren.”

Something clicked in Jonathan’s head at last. This thing that bore Dennis’ face...it had previously said that forces of good were using Warren to talk to Andrew, not evil. It didn’t add up. “It...it wants me to kill myself to save the world,” Jonathan said.

“No!” Andrew screamed, launching himself at Jonathan and tackling him with enough force to send both of them tumbling into the front door. “Don’t you dare! It’s lying to you, can’t you see that? Dennis would never tell you to kill yourself. It’s not him!”

“But Katrina…”

“Don’t listen to him,” Not-Dennis commanded. He was flickering worse and worse, and the wind in the living room was picking up again. Jonathan struggled out from under Andrew and dashed into the middle of the fluttering papers, rattling lampshades, and general commotion of an uneasy force. This room was at least five degrees cooler than any other part of the apartment. Dennis. The real Dennis. Whatever that imposter in the front hall was, it was not the person Jonathan had been getting to know since arriving in L.A.

Andrew scrambled after Jonathan. “I believe you,” Jonathan hissed, grabbing him. “Now how the fuck do we get that thing out of here?”

“I don’t know,” Andrew whined. “I don’t think it’s a demon.”

Jonathan’s mind flipped through possibilities. “No, but maybe a banishment spell would work. Dennis is already weakening it by fighting against it. You do a banishment spell - any that you know off the top of your head. And I’m going to do a cleansing spell.”

Not-Dennis bore down on them. “You will be single-handedly responsible for the end of the world,” it snarled at them. It flickered again and suddenly Katrina was back, advancing on them like a wolf upon its prey. Jonathan tried to make a magical shield, but it just walked right through it. It could not touch them, however. It had no corporeal substance. He groped in his backpack, searching for his mage kit while Andrew scrambled to draw the first banishment sigil he could think of.

Jonathan wrenched his mage kit open and grabbed the herbs necessary for a cleansing. Katrina laughed at their efforts. “You cannot be rid of me so easily,” she taunted. “I’m already in your heads. I know you have nightmares about me - about the awful things you did to me. You’ll have to live with that for the rest of your pitiful lives. If you do what I say, though, that doesn’t have to be for much longer.”

Jonathan shut out the sound of her voice and chanted softly under his breath. It was a risk to do a cleansing spell that could potentially take Dennis along with this spectre, but it was a risk he had to take. Dennis had a hold on the apartment that created a stronger anchor than whatever this imposter was clinging to. Beside him, Andrew had almost finished his sigil and Dennis continued to pour every ounce of his energy into draining and fighting not-Katrina.

The combined efforts were working. Katrina continued to flicker in and out of existence, and she sneered down at them, hurtling taunts like weapons. Jonathan shut her voice out and continued to focus on his spell. Sweat popped up on his brow and trickled down his neck.

Katrina’s strength was draining and she knew it. Before she fled, she leaned down and whispered in Jonathan’s ear, “You’re only delaying the inevitable.”

And then she was gone.

The winds died down as Dennis calmed. Jonathan sat down on the floor suddenly, his legs too weak to hold him up anymore. Andrew crawled over to Jonathan and pulled him into a tight, choking hug.

“Were you really going to kill yourself?” he asked in a voice that trembled.

Jonathan thought briefly about lying for Andrew’s peace of mind, but he was too tired to make it convincing. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I thought my death could make a difference.”

Jonathan’s duvet floated over to them from his bedroom and wrapped both men up in a tight embrace. Jonathan leaned into the warm cover. “Thanks, Dennis. You really did save my life this time.”

“Please don’t leave us,” Andrew whimpered.

Jonathan closed his eyes. “I promise I won’t commit suicide for no reason. But...if there ever really is a Wrath of Khan situation….”

“No,” Andrew insisted stubbornly. “You’re not allowed to be Spock.”

“But the needs of the many,” Jonathan reminded him. “I’m not saying it will happen, but if it does, then at least I won’t die for nothing.”

“Fine,” Andrew said reluctantly. “But then I totally get to Search for Spock you.”

Jonathan’s smile was strained but heartfelt. “Deal.”

\---

“What was it?” Fred wondered aloud.

Jonathan shrugged. The whole group was gathered in Angel’s tiny office, listening as Andrew and Jonathan related what had happened the previous night. “I don’t think it was a demon or ghost or -”

“It was the First Evil,” Angel interrupted. “Everything you said fits with what I encountered a few years ago in Sunnydale. The First was trying to get me to kill Buffy. Whatever this Seal of Danzalthar is, it’s not good.”

“The First Evil,” Wesley repeated thoughtfully. “What makes you so sure that’s what this was?”

“Everyone Jonathan mentioned it looked like - Tara, the Katrina girl, Dennis - they’re all dead. The First is incorporeal and can take on the aspect of any person who has died,” Angel explained. “It’s tried to manipulate me before - I’ll tell Buffy that it was doing so again and that she needs to watch out for this Seal thing. You know exactly where it’s located in the school?”

Jonathan nodded. “I think so. I can draw a map and what it looks like, more or less.”

“Good,” Angel said. “That’ll be helpful.”

“I don’t understand, though,” Fred interjected, frowning. “Why Jonathan?”

“Are you kidding?” Cordelia asked. “What better target except maybe Angel again? No offense, but have you two noticed how similar you are?”

Jonathan and Angel looked at each other, surprised. “Not exactly,” Jonathan admitted.

Cordelia ticked points off her fingers. “Bypassing the obvious that you both want to make up for past wrongs, there’s also your melodramatic tendencies, the fact that you have the emotional maturity of three-year-olds, you are good strategists, and you both have attempted to commit suicide at least once in the past four years. I’m not saying this First Evil guy has a type or anything, but you can’t deny the similarities.”

Jonathan stared at her. “Okay, but it also tried to recruit Andrew to open the Seal except it was using Warren’s aspect instead of Dennis,” he pointed out. 

“Wait, that - I mean, yeah of course it wasn’t really Warren,” Andrew said, eyes darting from face to face. “It was totally obvious.”

“Exactly,” Jonathan agreed, too focused on the matter at hand to notice how squirrelly Andrew had gotten. “That doesn’t fit the same pattern.”

“Sounds like this guy was just trying out different angles and yours was the one that looked like it might work,” Gunn said.

“But why was it able to work its voodoo on Jonathan but not Andrew?” Lorne asked.

“It tried the wrong tactic,” Jonathan guessed. “Because you don’t want to follow Warren anymore, right?”

Andrew shook his head vigorously. “No we’re good people now. I’m good. I fight for good. A-and you’re not Vader.”

Gunn cocked an eyebrow. “I’m guessing that makes sense to someone here?”

“Hurting someone to help them,” Jonathan supplied, remembering their conversation from what seemed like ages ago by now. “Whatever the First wanted to Andrew to do, it must have been trying to convince him it was for my own good?”

“Y-yeah,” Andrew hiccuped. “It wanted me to do something really bad but it said that doing the bad thing would make us all gods. B-but I don’t want to be a god. I don’t want to lose touch with humanity. And - and I talked to Cordelia too and she said being a god sucked and was boring, and she also agreed that listening to Warren would only lead to trouble.”

“I did?” Cordelia said. “I don’t remember… wait - is that why you kept rambling at me about Star Trek stuff?”

“Stargate,” Andrew corrected, sniffling a little. He was still pretty worked up from earlier, but he was calming down now.

“What bad thing was it trying to get you to do?” Angel asked.

Andrew shot a guilty look at Jonathan. “It wanted me to kill you. But I would never!” he added quickly. “It had me dreaming about the thing that eats you from the bottom up first and then it turned into Warren and it said that I could save all of us but to do so, I would have to sacrifice Jonathan. It mentioned the Seal of Danzalthar, but I didn’t know what or where it was. But it made some really good points - but then talking to Jonathan and Cordelia made me realise it wasn’t worth it. So the next time I dreamed about Warren I told him I couldn’t kill Jonathan, no matter what the trade-off.”

There was a short silence following Andrew. “Why does The First want Jonathan dead so badly?” Gunn asked.

Cordelia shook her head. “I don’t think it’s about Jonathan. Like you said, it’s about the angle. Jonathan mentioned that The First specifically said it knew he wasn’t a murderer. But he has been suicidal in the past. Andrew wasn’t, but he’s been pretty close to murder before. Jonathan just happened to be the closest available person.”

More silence, this time stretching on for over a minute. Everyone looked a little rattled. Andrew refused to look Jonathan in the eye, his head hung in shame. “I should call Buffy, let her know more or less what’s going on,” Angel said at last. “Jonathan, if you feel up to it the map and the Seal design would be helpful as soon as possible.”

Jonathan nodded. “Oh, and you should also see if the phrase ‘from beneath you it devours’ means anything to her. Because we both dreamed about that too in very similar contexts and around the same time we started having dreams about The First.”

Angel promised to bring it up. The group dispersed as Angel picked up the phone at his desk and punched a number in from memory.

“I don’t blame you, you know,” Jonathan told Andrew in sotto voce as they left the office. “It almost had me convinced too. In fact - thanks for not listening to it. And for talking sense into me.”

“I could never kill you,” Andrew insisted again. “Not even if it really did mean saving the world or - or striking you down to make you more powerful than before, like Obi-Wan. Because you’re really not Vader, you know. You’ve always been Obi-Wan.” He looked down. “Maybe I’m Vader.”

Jonathan gripped his shoulder hard. “You’re not Vader. And I’m not Obi-Wan. You’re Andrew and I’m Jonathan and we’re just going to keep doing what we’ve been doing and don’t look back.”

“How do you know the dream I told you about wasn’t really Warren?” Andrew asked. “How do you know it was actually The First?”

“Because it also talked about the Seal. That’s how we first heard about it,” Jonathan reminded him. “It’s too much of a coincidence. Warren…. he’s not coming back, Andrew.”

“I know,” Andrew said, still not quite able to meet his gaze. Jonathan wasn’t entirely sure if Andrew really knew or was just saying what Jonathan wanted to hear.

“How did you know it wasn’t really Dennis?” Jonathan asked.

Andrew finally looked at him squarely. “I wasn’t sure. But I know Dennis wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself. Not after he spends so much time looking after you.”

“Oh.” Jonathan blushed. “Yeah, I guess so.”

As Jonathan walked away, he ignored the warmth in his chest at what Andrew had said and instead focused on another thought that kept niggling at the back of his mind. He couldn’t help but wonder if there was a universe out there where Andrew couldn’t resist whatever temptations had been promised to him, and where Jonathan had been killed at the hands of his best friend.

It didn’t matter. He didn’t live in that universe. He lived in this one, and he had a task to do, so he focused on that instead.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS GRAPHIC SEXUAL SITUATIONS AT THE END. If you don't want to read it, I would recommend stopping when Jonathan lies face down on the bed.

The week following the disaster with the First Evil, Dennis hounded Jonathan every minute he was at the apartment. He seemed to be scared to let Jonathan out of his presence for too long, lest The First come back. He needn’t have worried; Jonathan’s dreams of Sunnydale stopped altogether, leaving a sort of blank hole his mind didn’t quite know how to fill. After two nights without seeing Dennis’ face, Jonathan couldn’t have described him. After a full week, he couldn’t have picked him out of a lineup. He was left with just vague memories of dark hair and a bashful smile.

Jonathan tolerated the closeness for a while, but after a few days it was starting to drive him a little crazy. He had to remind Dennis repeatedly not to follow him into the bathroom when Jonathan needed to shower or pee. Still, every morning that he woke up to a cold room and a peaceful night’s rest, he felt a surge of gratitude for the ghost’s reassurances. He couldn’t look at the knife he had selected to do the deed without feeling a wash of shame and guilt. He hid it at the back of the junk drawer and shrugged when Andrew asked him if he had seen it.

Jonathan’s interactions with Andrew also changed. Andrew had claimed he would never have killed Jonathan, but his sudden deference to Jonathan’s preferences and the overabundance of cookies and cakes coming from the oven reeked of some emotional turmoil. He was quiet and withdrawn, the way he had been when he first mourned the loss of Warren. Jonathan knew they should probably talk things over - he could guess what a huge blow it must have been for Andrew to lose what he thought was his last connection to Warren - but he was unsure how to bring it up. “Thanks for not killing me just because what you thought was Warren told you to do so” didn’t seem like a good starter. He would have liked to forget the whole thing happened.

At least one good thing came of the whole debacle: Angel informed Jonathan and Andrew that Buffy had been grateful for the information on The First. Angel had pretended like he was the one being manipulated by The First again, and Buffy had believed him. He told her about the Seal and where it was located, and she was going to look further into the situation. He said that when he mentioned the phrase “From beneath you it devours,” she had become really quiet and hung up soon after. Whatever the phrase meant, it rattled her.

Jonathan wished he could help more directly, but it would be a slap in Buffy’s face for him and Andrew to show back up and offer to help - and that wasn’t even counting the reaction Willow could potentially have to seeing them again. Jonathan preferred to keep his skin intact.

“What do you want for dinner?” Andrew asked, opening the fridge. “We’ve got all the stuff for chicken tacos or I could make some seasoned rice or - oh hey, I could do some stir fry.”

Jonathan groaned as he sank down onto the couch. He was too young to feel this old, but working for Angel Investigations was tough on the body. On the days they weren’t running around and beating up demons, they spent hours sitting in one spot reading huge texts. Days when there was nothing to be done were rare and highly cherished. “Whatever you feel up to,” Jonathan told Andrew. Dennis tossed Jonathan the remote control. “Thanks,” he said, grinning at the invisible presence.

“But what do you feel like eating?” Andrew persisted. He hovered in the kitchen doorway, pouting.

Jonathan flipped through channels, not finding anything good to watch. “I really don’t care. Tacos or stir fry, both sound really good.”

“I’ll make tacos, then.” Andrew peered closely at Jonathan as if searching for some secret hint of dissent. “Or maybe stir fry.”

“Sounds good,” Jonathan said.

Andrew stared at Jonathan for a moment longer through squinted eyes, then spun around and went into the kitchen. “Want any help?” Jonathan called after him, already knowing the answer.

“I’m fine,” Andrew called back over the clatter of pots and pans. “Hey, is  _ Farscape  _ on?”

Jonathan pulled the channel guide up. “Not for another ten minutes. Want me to let you know when it’s on?”

“Nah, I’ll be busy in here,” Andrew said, popping his head in the doorway again. “Let me know what I miss.”

“Okay, but seriously if you want to watch with me, dinner can wait or I can help,” Jonathan said.

“It’s fine,” Andrew insisted. “You like  _ Farscape  _ more than I do anyway.”

“Then why did you even ask about it?” Jonathan grumbled under his breath. He wondered if it would be worth the investment to get a TiVo; they were pricey but it would mean no more missing shows when they were on missions or had a schedule conflict. Instead, he put a blank VHS tape into the VCR and set it up to record the right channel. He didn’t want Andrew to miss out, even if he said it was okay - and besides, Jonathan didn’t want to just lie around while Andrew served him dinner like a housewife. Ever since the almost-suicide Andrew had been treating Jonathan like he would snap if he didn’t get everything his way. It made Jonathan feel itchy.

“C’mon, Dennis,” he said. “Let’s go help Andrew.”

Dennis made no protest. Although he did not eat, he enjoyed making food for his living friends. He would usually cook on the nights when Andrew and Jonathan were exceptionally late coming home, not like tonight when they had gotten home early. Andrew never minded the nights they didn’t have food waiting for them; he liked cooking as much as - if not more than - their ghostly roommate.

“What can I do to help?” Jonathan asked.

Andrew looked like he was going to protest, but maybe his newfound compliance to Jonathan’s every desire also included not arguing when Jonathan offered to help. “Can you wash the rice, please?”

Jonathan did as he was bid and Dennis picked up a nearby knife to begin chopping up vegetables for the stir fry. Andrew prepared the chicken. Between the three of them, the food was ready in almost no time at all.

Jonathan watched Andrew carefully over the next few days. This strange new deference seemed not to be born out of some fear that if Jonathan didn’t get his way all the time he would find the nearest route to offing himself, but out of something more innate to Andrew himself. It wasn’t just Jonathan he looked to for guidance, but everyone who wasn’t himself. He could barely decide what he wanted for lunch without double checking with Cordelia that it sounded delicious. He was second-guessing every decision he made, which suddenly made his job a lot more dangerous than it already was.

It finally came to a head over a week later, when they whole gang when into an abandoned warehouse to take down a gang of Pancet demons who had been terrorizing and killing the local homeless population. Jonathan, as usual, hung back slightly in a concealed spot to work his “magic mojo” as Cordelia called it. Andrew had his crossbow and was ready to pick off the ones who escaped the main fighters. It should have been a relatively simple assignment; the Pancets were numerous but hardly intelligent. Angel looked almost upbeat as he told them, “In, out, and home in time for dinner - or breakfast, depending on your sleep schedule.” He chuckled as if he had just made some witty joke, which caused the rest of the gang to shoot each other bewildered stares.

“Is it really going to be that easy?” Gunn asked Wesley as they collected weapons from the cabinet. Jonathan already had his mage kit ready to go and was just loitering close enough to happen to catch the exchange.

“Should be,” Wesley said. His friendship with Gunn had been the most tenuous since Wesley’s return to Angel Investigations, but slowly they seemed to be getting back to the place they were before Wesley’s betrayal. “Pancet demons have the IQ of roughly a somewhat advanced cow and all the traditional weak spots: head, heart, throat. They will probably be wearing spiked armour on top of their own natural strength, so I would advise going for the throat or head if it is uncovered.”

“Head or throat, got it,” Gunn said, shoving a dagger into his belt. He clapped Wesley on the shoulder. “Should be fun.”

Wesley smiled wryly but did not answer. He had taken to wearing turtleneck shirts even in the heat of Los Angeles autumn, as if trying to cover up his past mistakes.

They rolled out, taking Angel’s car and Gunn’s truck. Jonathan generally didn’t drive out on missions, since his car was by far the most unreliable and they didn’t need that many seats. Still, it was a nice thing to have around and meant they didn’t have to rely on rides or public transit timetables anymore. Buses were fine, but they didn’t run on the same schedule as demonic attacks. Everything was going smoothly as they burst into the abandoned warehouse and prepared to do battle. The team had a rhythm down that had worked wonders on past missions. It wasn’t perfect - all too often at least one person went home with a limp or a scratch or worse - but it worked.

Jonathan positioned himself where he could keep an eye on his teammates lest they find themselves in dire straights. His number one focus was always on Andrew (a habit formed in the last few years to protect Andrew that he had never quite been able to break), but more than once he had rescued somebody else from a bad situation with a timely spell. And more than once somebody had rescued him from a demon who had snuck up behind Jonathan when he was focused on his magic. The group trusted him and in return he was learning to trust them in a way he had never been able to trust anyone before.

From his vantage point, Jonathan saw trouble almost from the minute it started. Angel silently signalled everyone to take their positions, including Andrew, who obediently went to his spot and then looked to Angel for more direction. Angel, however, was already focused on his leading charge into battle and was no longer paying any attention to Andrew. Jonathan - who was supposed to be focusing on his spell but was distracted by Andrew’s unusual behaviour - watched as Andrew whirled around, looking for someone who would tell him his next move and finding no one.

Pancets descended on them in droves. They might not be the most intelligent demons, but they had numbers in their favour and spiked armour protecting them. The best way to kill them would be a sword, axe, or bolt to the throat or head (or if you were Jonathan, a spell that would make them explode from the inside out; gory but effective). Andrew raised his crossbow and aimed at the nearest demon, but he didn’t fire. He lowered his weapon slightly and aimed at the next demon. Still he did not fire. He aimed at three more demons in rapid succession, never quite able to pick one and fire.

Frustrated, scared, and bewildered by his best friend’s indecision, Jonathan grabbed a metal bar lying at his feet and chucked it at a demon who was about to pounce on Andrew. “Andrew!” Jonathan yelled. The demon was deterred by the bar but not stopped - instead its focus shifted to Jonathan and it came at him instead. Unfortunately, Jonathan had been so distracted he wasn’t ready for his spell and all he had on him was a small dagger in case of emergency. “Shoot it,” he cried.

Andrew raised his crossbow and pointed it at the demon but he still hesitated. “Fire,” Jonathan screamed, fumbling for his dagger to hopefully get a lucky slash in at the demon’s throat before it killed him.

Andrew fired at last, goaded by Jonathan’s command. The demon went down, a bolt sticking out of the back of its head. Andrew lowered his crossbow with hands that Jonathan could see trembled even at this distance. “What are you doing?” Jonathan demanded. “Fight them.” He pointed to the demons still active and fighting. One of them caught sight of Andrew standing practically defenseless and charged at him.

Andrew whirled around and raised his crossbow but it was too late - the demon tackled him and sent the both of them tumbling into the nearest wall. Jonathan abandoned his position and his mage kit to scramble over to Andrew, dagger in his hand before he was even aware of reaching for it. He jumped onto the demon’s back, managed to avoid the armour spikes and get his arm around the demon’s throat to plunge his dagger in. He pushed the demon’s head forward for easier slicing as he dragged the dagger from one side of the throat= to the other, spraying both himself and Andrew with demon blood. It collapsed on top of Andrew, and Jonathan tumbled to one side.

He grabbed Andrew’s crossbow, which had gotten knocked aside in the fray. Andrew heaved the demon off of himself and sat up. “Thanks,” he said, shaken and quiet.

Jonathan said a few brief words that threw an invisible barrier up around them as he knelt beside Andrew. “What the hell were you doing?” he hissed. There was a gash on Andrew’s chest from the demon’s armour, but Jonathan didn’t have his mage kit so he couldn’t doctor the wound just yet.

“I don’t know,” Andrew whimpered. “What if I kill the wrong one and another one hurts someone else because I chose badly?”

Jonathan made a frustrated sound. They were protected for now but the barrier wouldn’t hold forever. The others were too engrossed in battle to notice what they were doing. “It’s going to be a whole hell of a lot worse if you don’t kill any of them,” he said. “We’ve gotta help our friends or else they’re going to get hurt. Can you shoot?”

“What?”

“Can you shoot your crossbow with your injury?” Jonathan repeated.

Andrew looked down; apparently he hadn’t even noticed the cut, which was bleeding sluggishly into his tee-shirt. “Y-yes.”

Jonathan handed him back his crossbow. “Come on. You’re going to stay with me and we’re going to stay out of the main fighting. Okay?”

“Okay,” Andrew said gratefully.

Jonathan led Andrew out from behind the barrier and back to where he’d abandoned his mage kit. “If you see an open shot on any of the demons, take it,” Jonathan instructed. “Don’t think, just do it.”

“Got it,” Andrew replied. He stood over Jonathan as Jonathan poured together ingredients and said the words for his spell. As the power built up in him, he sought out a target and directed the energy flow into the demon. The energy pulsed once, twice, and then the demon exploded in a shower of gore and guts, only some of which was contained by the demon’s strong armour. Cordelia, who had just cut off the head of another demon not five feet away, was promptly splattered with flesh and organ bits.

“Hey,” she yelled at Jonathan. “Watch it!” Before she could say anything else, another demon charged her and she was back in the thick of the fight.

Andrew raised his crossbow and fired, straight into the throat of another demon. Relieved that Andrew had finally gotten his head into the fight, Jonathan focused on his magic. One after another, he built up energy and transferred it into a demon before causing the energy to surge into an explosion. He hadn’t told anyone exactly how dangerous this spell could be to the caster if performed improperly or if the energy didn’t transfer quickly enough. He didn’t want them to think he was still suicidal because he wasn’t.

It was almost becoming routine, this endless battle against evil. Fight, kill, rinse, repeat. Maybe Andrew was right to question it. What business did they really have involving themselves in this sordid world?

Jonathan mentally shook his head. No. They fought because they had to and because it was the right thing to do. There was no time to second-guess themselves. Aim and fire, aim and fire, aim and fire - that was all that mattered right now.

He let himself be consumed by the repetition, not coming out of the haze of magic until the last Pancet fell. Angel and Gunn did a brief sweep of the rest of the warehouse and reported they had cleared it all out. Jonathan and Andrew came over to join the others, Jonathan carrying his mage kit and Andrew holding his crossbow like it might bite him.

“What happened?” Fred asked, reaching out to touch Andrew’s torn shirt. She hissed when she saw the cut.

“Did your crossbow malfunction?” Angel asked, taking the weapon from Andrew’s hands. “It looked like you weren’t firing at first.”

“I - I was - it - the - see…” Andrew began, but he didn’t know quite what to say. He turned bright red as everyone stared at him, waiting for him to spit it out.

“The crossbow malfunctioned,” Jonathan said quietly. “But we got it working again.”

Andrew looked for a moment like he might protest Jonathan’s lie, but then he just nodded. Angel gave the crossbow a quick assessment. “It looks okay, but we better take a closer look at it back at the hotel. We’ll get you patched up.”

The ride back to the hotel was more silent and tense - at least for Jonathan and Andrew. They road in the truck with Gunn, who twice tried to engage them in conversation with mixed results. After a while, he gave up and turned on the radio instead. Andrew kept touching his chest and wincing.

“You’re going to make it worse,” Jonathan admonished him.

Andrew shoved his hands under his thighs to resist the temptation to touch the wound again.

Back at the hotel, Andrew submitted silently as Cordelia patched him up. Angel disassembled the crossbow, looking for a nonexistent flaw. Lorne, sensing the heavy mood, tried to get Andrew to smile, but all he managed was a weak lip twitch that looked more like he was trying not to cry. Jonathan sat next to him, hoping he didn’t look too much like a worried mother hen.

“All done,” Cordelia said brightly. Andrew slid away from her with a murmured thanks.

“We’re going to head out,” Jonathan told Angel. Everyone mumbled tired goodbyes. The adrenaline had left them, and they were starting to come down from the rush. It would soon be time for bed and then they would wake up and do it all over again.

As soon as they climbed into the car, Andrew turned to Jonathan. “I’m sorry.”

Jonathan didn’t want to say it was okay because it wasn’t. Andrew could have easily gotten himself or someone else killed today. Instead, he started the car. He had so many questions he didn’t even know where to start. “What -?” he started to ask, then stopped. They would deal with this at home.

Andrew shifted nervously, agitated. He opened his mouth and shut it again without saying anything. He did this two more times before words finally began to spill out as they sat waiting for a red light to change.

“It’s just that The First was Warren - He wanted me to bring him back and I wanted to. He was - and I just - The thing is that I had the motivation but not the means, you know so I was just going to - But I didn’t know it was The First Evil or anything I thought it was going to work out okay and we could be happy again,” Andrew said.

Jonathan’s blood ran cold. “You said you would never kill me.”

“I wouldn’t!” Andrew protested. The light turned green at last, and Jonathan pressed on the accelerator, ignoring how badly his whole leg trembled as he did so. “You were going to come back.”

“So it doesn’t count as death if you come back?” Jonathan asked. “I think I know someone who would disagree with that.” Not that Jonathan really knew what happened in the mind of The Slayer, but he knew enough to guess that Buffy would have a thing or two to say about death and resurrection.

Andrew slumped in his seat and didn’t say anything more for the rest of the ride. Jonathan parked the car and climbed out, his whole body strung out and achy. They trudged up the stairs, weary and silent. Inside, Dennis greeted them with his usual energy, but went silent when he sensed the tension between them. He plucked at the bandage on Andrew’s chest, which poked through the tear in his shirt.

Andrew pulled his shirt together, hiding the bandage. “I got cut.”

Jonathan couldn’t say how he knew Dennis had more questions to ask, but he could sense it somehow. “Do you mind giving us some privacy for a moment?” he asked the ghost.

Dennis didn’t respond, but a moment later the air became warmer and Jonathan could no longer feel his presence in the room.

Andrew fidgeted, watching Jonathan nervously. “Tell me what you want me to say.”

Jonathan shrugged. “I don’t know. That if you ever see Warren again - even if it’s really a resurrected Warren who swears he has changed and is a good person now - you won’t listen to a word he says? That if anyone at all tells you to kill me, you’ll talk to me about it before plotting ways to murder me? That you won’t put anyone in danger on missions anymore and you’ll trust your instincts to take care of yourself and your friends? But I only want you to say them if they’re the truth.”

Andrew’s mouth worked for a moment before sound finally came out of it. “I...will come to you if anyone ever wants me to kill or hurt you. And I’ll do what I can to protect my friends. But what if I make the wrong decision?” he cried.

Jonathan felt like he could cry. It felt so hopeless. Any moment any of them could make a decision that would get a teammate hurt or killed. It was a terrifying responsibility - one Jonathan had tried not to think about before. “At least it’s better than making no decision. I don’t get it, Andrew. We both made tons of mistakes in the Trio. People  _ did _ get hurt. Why is now when you suddenly decide to doubt yourself? The only difference is -” Warren. Everything Andrew had done in the Trio - every mistake he made - had not really been his decision in the first place. Everything he did was for Warren. He didn’t have that incentive in the back of his mind weighing his decisions for him, so any mistake he made was fully his own bad choice.

Andrew didn’t say anything; tears streamed down his cheeks. He looked exhausted and understandably wrung out. Jonathan wanted to know if his theory was correct, but to push now would be futile.

Jonathan’s shoulder slumped visibly. “For what it’s worth, I trust you. In spite of everything and even if you don’t trust yourself, I do. And so do Cordelia and Angel and the rest of the team.”

Without warning, Andrew launched himself at Jonathan and grabbed him in a blubbery hug. Jonathan stiffened at first, but then he let himself relax and hug Andrew back.

When they separated, Andrew wiped his eyes and nose on his sleeve. “Do you need any painkillers or more ointment?” Jonathan asked gruffly. Cordelia had used ointment already on the wound (ointment supplied by Jonathan himself, so anything Jonathan gave him now wouldn’t be any different from what she had used) but he didn’t know what else to ask.

“I could use some ibuprofen or something,” Andrew said.

Jonathan went to fetch it from the bathroom medicine cabinet. “You should probably take it easy for a couple of days,” he said. “Don’t do anything strenuous, all that crap you told me when I hurt my arm. And here.” He grabbed the television remote and held it out to Andrew. “For the next two days you’re in charge of the television. Dennis and I get some input if there’s something on we want to watch, but you get the final say. Okay?” Baby steps.

“O-okay, I guess,” Andrew said, eyes wide. He stared at the remote like he’d just been handed a Doomsday Machine.

“I think I’m gonna go to bed, if you don’t need anything else,” Jonathan said. When Andrew shook his head, Jonathan still hesitated a moment just to be sure. Finally, he went down the short hall to his bedroom.

Dennis was waiting for him. There was an inquiring hum in the air. “Andrew’s gonna be fine,” Jonathan assured him, but he did not elaborate further. 

Dennis was not pleased with the vagueness of this answer, and left the room. He wasn’t gone long - just long enough for Jonathan to struggle his way out of his socks and shoes. Dennis must have been satisfied with whatever he found because he immediately focused on Jonathan instead, pushing him gently until he sat down on the edge of the bed. Using a damp washcloth he had already prepared, Dennis carefully washed Jonathan’s face.

Jonathan closed his eyes. Whenever he needed a break from thinking or responsibility in general, Dennis always seemed to be right there, ready to take over. It felt good to be taken care of by his friend’s invisible hands. Dennis always knew exactly what Jonathan needed.

Dennis finished with Jonathan’s face and moved the washcloth around to the back of his neck, where the ghost didn’t so much wash as dig into the sore muscles back there. Jonathan let his body relax and loosen, trying to make it as easy as possible for Dennis to massage.

His breathing deepened, evened out. He let himself stop thinking about anything except this moment in time, imagining it was a real and solid pair of hands working out the kinks in his body. Under Dennis’ guidance, Jonathan stripped off his shirt and laid down on the bed facedown so Dennis could massage his back. Each manipulation of his muscle sent him further and further into a state of nonthinking and pure relaxation. It felt good.

Too good.

Jonathan’s eyes snapped open as he realised his body was taking too much of an interest in Dennis’ invisible touches. He squirmed a little, but that did nothing to alleviate the problem; if anything, it made it worse as his groin ground against the mattress.

“Dennis,” Jonathan said, just trying to stop his friend, but it came out sounding entirely too much like a moan. Dennis stilled, and Jonathan could not tell if he knew what was going on or not. “Uh, maybe I should go to bed.” He didn’t move.

Dennis pushed gently on Jonathan’s side, urging him to roll over. Jonathan shook his head, embarrassed. “I didn’t… it’s not…. I just….” He wanted to explain his reluctance to turn over, but he didn’t have the words to tell Dennis, ‘it’s been so long since anyone touched me like this that my body reacted and it has nothing to do with you. I’m so sorry.’ (The last time had been prom; he and his date fumbling in the back of a parked car, both inexperienced and glad to share their first time with someone they trusted even though they both knew it wouldn’t last).

The thing about Dennis was he usually knew when to back off. He also knew when to persist. He pushed again on Jonathan’s side, and Jonathan turned over at last. His erection wasn’t incredibly obvious through the fabric of his jeans, but Dennis must know. He must have seen or sensed or maybe just guessed by the way Jonathan was behaving. To Jonathan’s complete bewilderment, Dennis began to manipulate Jonathan’s belt buckle into opening.

“Dennis…” Jonathan didn’t mean to sound so - so needy, but his body was crying for sexual release while his mind protested sharply against it. He had to stop this before something happened that either one of them would regret. Dennis hesitated, belt unbuckled and button open but fly still zipped. W-A-N-T? he asked.

Jonathan felt vaguely dizzy, like he was drunk but he hadn’t had any alcohol for days. If he were to answer honestly… yes, he wanted. He wanted very badly. But he also wanted someone else to make the decision for him. To say  _ Jonathan, this is what you need and I’m going to make sure you get what you need _ and not listen should he try to protest. This is a bad idea, his mind screamed but almost unwittingly Jonathan found himself nodding slowly. “Want,” he said.

Dennis eased his zipper down and pulled his pants off his hips. Jonathan lifted his ass with legs that trembled, so that Dennis could pull them all the way down to his ankles and then gently slip them off. Dressed only in his boxers, Jonathan felt exposed but also… almost comforted. His erection was fully hard now and very obvious through the thin cotton fabric. Dennis carefully lifted the elastic waistband over his cock and pulled the boxers down to the same fate as the pants. Jonathan was now completely nude in front of one of his closest friends. It wasn’t the first time Dennis had seen him naked, but this time Jonathan didn’t have a shower curtain and bubbles to hide behind. His heart felt like it might pound its way right out of his chest.

Dennis touched his cock in the same way he had been manipulating Jonathan’s back muscles earlier, but this proved too cold, too uncomfortable. Jonathan hissed and jerked away from the touch. Dennis backed off slightly. He held up the abandoned washcloth, a silent inquiry. Jonathan swallowed, unsure what Dennis was trying to ask. Did he want to use the washcloth to...to get Jonathan off?

“Sure?” he said hesitantly. If it didn’t work, maybe this was not meant to be. If it didn’t work -

That line of thought was cut off abruptly as Dennis wrapped the washcloth around Jonathan’s cock and stroked him once. The fabric created a barrier between the coldness of Dennis’ presence and Jonathan’s skin, and it was damp enough to ease the friction that would normally be caused. It was not the most ideal fabric, but Jonathan was beyond caring. His hips shuddered of their own accord, much to his embarrassment but he was beyond humiliation at this point. He was floating in a sort of unreality where he could not believe this was actually happening but he could feel every moment. Dennis stroked him evenly, calmly. Muscles that had tensed up at first now relaxed again and Jonathan closed his eyes.

He could pretend these were real, corporeal hands that touched him. He could pretend it was Jessica, the girl from prom - or maybe even Fred who took him in hand and made him feel so good. He could imagine touching her and her touching him back, kissing him all over his body before coming back to his mouth and letting him taste himself on her tongue. Her breasts in his hands, hard and muscular. No, that wasn’t right.

The fantasy changed. Jonathan no longer held Jessica in his arms, but Dennis. The real Dennis as best as Jonathan could remember him - which wasn’t as much as he would have liked. But there was no mistaking that kind smile as his hands - his actual hands, not cold manipulation of matter barricaded behind a damp cloth - wrapped around Jonathan and pumped him gently.

Jonathan came with a low groan, his cum splashing onto his stomach in a sticky mess. Dennis stroked him through the orgasm, wringing every last bit of pleasure out of him. Jonathan collapsed, boneless and exhausted. He felt like he could just melt into the bed covers. He felt...good. Sated. Almost...happy. His problems were still there and would be waiting for him in the morning, but for now he could just focus on Dennis using the damp cloth to clean up his stomach. He could concentrate on the washcloth being disposed in the laundry basket along with his jeans and dampened boxers. A clean pair of boxers floated out of his half-open dresser drawer and slid over Jonathan’s compliant feet.

“I can dress myself,” he said, but he wasn’t actually sure he could right now. Sleep was coming over him fast, and he yawned widely. He let Dennis finish pulling the boxers up and then crawled under the covers. He yawned again. The light switched off.

“Thank you,” Jonathan murmured into the darkness. A cold breeze ruffled his hair, but he almost didn’t feel it because he was already half asleep.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is frank discussions of sex and arousal throughout this chapter. If you're not interested in reading about that, I would say to skip to the part with the kitten.

Jonathan slept hard that night and well into the morning. By the time he rolled out of bed, it was past 11 and he felt weirdly exhausted in a way only too much sleep can bring. Yawning, he went into the bathroom to relieve himself. There, the full impact of what happened last night hit him. 

Dennis had jerked him off as if it was no big deal. Did this count as having sex with a ghost? Should Jonathan mention it? Was Dennis gay? Was Jonathan?!

Jonathan took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He finished his business, washed his hands, and went out into the kitchen to hunt down coffee. He could not face his roommates without the extra strength provided by caffeine.

Was there even a word for people who had sex with ghosts? Was that a thing people did? Were there people out there who were sexually attracted to ghosts? Was Jonathan one of them this whole time and never knew it? He didn’t think so. It hadn’t been Dennis ghostliness that had gotten Jonathan aroused last night, but just a reaction to being cared for after a stressful night. Compared to some of the boners he’d gotten in high school, this one seemed downright normal.

But that didn’t solve the whole gay question.

There was already coffee in the pot, but it looked like it had been sitting out awhile. Since Andrew didn’t drink coffee, somebody must have meant it for Jonathan. He dumped it out and started a new pot; he felt bad wasting the other person’s effort, but concentrating on the routine of making coffee might take his mind off the other problem on hand for a minute.

The answer, unfortunately, was that it did not. His mind continued to percolate with questions: did one night really change who he was fundamentally? He had fantasized about Dennis being the one to touch him - but to be fair Dennis really  _ had  _ been the one touching him. And it felt good. But Dennis being a man had nothing to do with that….right? Jonathan had seen naked guys before in locker rooms and once when Paul Zingler thought it would be funny to streak across college campus. He had jerked himself off many times in his life - many, many times. Last night was the only time he had ever thought about a man while doing so. He had never looked at any of the naked guys around him and had so much as a twinge of sexual desire.

The coffee machine beeped loudly to let him know it was done. He startled out of his uncomfortable thoughts and poured himself a cup.

“You’re awake!”

Jonathan jumped nearly a foot in the air, spilling hot coffee on his hand. He wasn’t ready to face Andrew, but he had no choice. He turned around.

“I thought Dennis made you coffee already?” Andrew chirped, oblivious to Jonathan’s inner turmoil.

Jonathan cleared his throat before answering, hoping his voice would not betray him somehow. “It was kinda old and didn’t look very good. I appreciate the gesture though.”

“Well, yeah, we expected you to get up ages ago,” Andrew said. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Fine,” Jonathan said shortly. “Thanks.”

Andrew opened the fridge, undeterred by Jonathan’s brusqueness. He seemed a lot better today than he had been since the incident with The First. “Do you want some breakfast? Or I guess at this point it would be more like brunch. There’s a few slices of bacon left if you want them.”

Jonathan shook his head; he wasn’t really hungry. “I’ll just make some toast.”

“Okay. Are we going into the office today?”

“I don’t know,” Jonathan said. “What do you think we should do?”

Andrew looked a little troubled at being asked to voice an opinion, but there was a glimmer in his eyes that looked almost like confidence. “I think… I mean, you did say I should take it easy for a couple of days, right? I think I’m going to stay home. Right?” He looked at Jonathan for reassurance.

“That sounds reasonable,” Jonathan agreed. “I think I might go in later.” He needed to get away from this place a while and clear his head. “Where’s Dennis? Just...out of curiosity.” He felt his cheeks flush, and hoped Andrew didn’t notice.

“We were watching The Food Network. It was my idea.” Andrew beamed proudly.

“Good job,” Jonathan said. He really meant it. He hoped this was the start of Andrew building his confidence back up. He pulled the loaf of bread out of the bread box and loaded two slices into the toaster, dialing it up as high as it would go. Andrew preferred a more medium setting. It was a small source of contention when Andrew would occasionally forget to check the setting and end up with black toast. “What are you going to do today?”

Andrew pulled another piece of bread out of the bag and began shredding it into small pieces. “Laundry, I think. I’m running out of socks. Want me to do yours while I’m at it?”

Jonathan started to nod, but he remembered what was currently lying on top of his laundry basket. “No!” he yelped. “You, uh… you shouldn’t be doing laundry in your condition. Laundry takes a lot of lifting and you could reopen your wound.”

Andrew’s eyes widened. “I didn’t think of that.” A troubled look came over his face. “I should have thought of that. I could have ended up hurting myself with only Dennis here and no one to help me if I can’t make it to the phone or - or if I bleed so much I pass out and hit my head and -”

“Andrew,” Jonathan interrupted. Damnit, this was not what he had intended. “Maybe D-Dennis will help with the lifting if you ask him. Just… you know, try it out with your own stuff. Don’t bother with mine. I - I did it recently already anyway.”

Andrew brightened up again. “Okay! I’ll do that. Thanks, Jonathan.”

Jonathan’s toast popped up, and he slathered a decent amount of butter on before shoving half the slice into his mouth. His heart was pounding wildly again. Why was Dennis hiding in the living room and hadn’t come to say good morning to Jonathan like he usually did? Was he having regrets? Had Jonathan asked too much of him last night? Should he just shower and leave without saying anything? His toast suddenly felt like sawdust in his mouth.

“Hey, I think a Star Trek Next Gen marathon is about to start on SciFi. C’mon,” Andrew said.

Jonathan’s heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t ready to face Dennis yet. Maybe he could slip away and just -

“They’re starting with ‘Best of Both Worlds.’ I know that’s your favourite,” Andrew said.

Something loosened slightly in Jonathan’s chest. He was still unsteady, but Star Trek could give him the confidence to move into the living room and face his fear. WWPD - what would Picard do? Of course, Picard probably wouldn’t have sex with a ghost… at least not intentionally. Maybe if something weird went haywire on The Enterprise and he accidentally… No. Picard wouldn’t. Somebody else on the crew might, though. Hell, Beverly had.

Jonathan grabbed his coffee and remaining piece of toast and followed Andrew into the living room. Dennis was still in there, but he wasn’t doing anything that Jonathan could visibly see. He was just...there. Probably watching  _ Unwrapped _ but sometimes it was hard to tell. “Morning, Dennis,” Jonathan mumbled, blushing again. He plopped down on the couch and shoved the other slice of toast into his mouth.

Dennis waved a cheerful hello and then passed the remote over to Andrew, who shoved the shredded bread into his mouth, so that he could change the channel to SciFi.

Jonathan tried to get into the show, but he couldn’t stop thinking. His thoughts whirled around in his head with no answer and no precedent. He didn’t have the energy to keep up with Andrew’s chatter. Dennis, on the other hand, was acting perfectly normal - engaging with Andrew in all the usual ways he had available to him. He even went and got Jonathan a refill when he drained his coffee mug, a gesture that should not have made Jonathan blush but did anyway.

After “Best of Both Worlds Part 2” finished, the next episode was “Family.” Captain Picard, recovering from his temporary Borg assimilation, goes to his family’s vineyard and ends up wrestling his brother in the mud over a difference of opinion. Jonathan’s heart twisted as Captain Picard tearfully tells his brother about how powerless and vulnerable he felt under the Borg’s control.

The episode ended, and was to be followed by the next episode in the series, a Data-centric episode. Jonathan loved Data episodes, but he felt too antsy to enjoy it. “I think I’m going to shower and go into the office,” he announced.

“Awwwwww,” Andrew whined. “But this is a really good marathon. There’s six more episodes left.”

Jonathan pushed himself off the couch. “I have some stuff I want to get done at work,” he said evasively.

“What stuff?” Andrew asked. “Can I help?”

“No, it’s going to be really boring,” Jonathan said.

Andrew did not look entirely convinced, but Jonathan ducked out before he could ask anymore questions. Jonathan was half-worried Dennis might try to follow him and talk to him, but thankfully he was left alone as he grabbed clean clothes. As an afterthought, he took the soiled washcloth from last night out of his laundry basket and shoved it under the bed. He would deal with it some other time when Andrew wasn’t around.

He wanted to talk to someone, but who could possibly advise him in this situation? Angel, maybe - if he didn’t give any of the specifics.  _ Angel, have you ever let someone jerk you off and it changed your whole understanding of yourself? _ Okay, maybe not Angel. Definitely not Gunn or Cordelia.

As Jonathan washed shampoo out of his hair, he hit upon the answer so fast he nearly smacked himself in the eye in his excitement. Lorne. Lorne was…. unusual. Jonathan could never really tell which way he swung, or if he really swung at all. And he could be discrete when asked. Jonathan could tell him a few details, leave out some others. Hell, maybe there was something in Jonathan’s aura that said if he was gay or not. He would just have to figure out the right way to approach the situation without giving away too much information.

Calmer now that he had a plan, Jonathan briskly washed his body. He had just finished rinsing the suds off when there was a knock on the door. Dennis. If pressed, Jonathan would not be able to say how he could differentiate between phantom knocks and corporeal ones, but he could.

Jonathan shut the water off and wrapped his towel around his hips. “What’s up?” he called.

C-O-M-E S-E-E, Dennis tapped on the bathroom door.

“See what?” Jonathan asked, but there was no further answer. Dennis had left.

Jonathan dried himself quickly and pulled his clothes on. His hair was still wet and sticking up in every direction as he opened the bathroom door and looked for the source of Dennis’ urgency. He found it in the living room, following the sound of Andrew cooing at something.

It was a kitten. Jonathan blinked hard, just in case his eyes were deceiving him. Andrew had spread a towel in the middle of the living room and was trying to clean up a dirty, squirming, crying kitten. Dennis practically vibrated with excitement as he floated a small saucer of milk into the living room from the kitchen and set it down by Andrew’s knees.

“Mraiiiiii,” the kitten howled.

“Where did it come from?” Jonathan asked. He approached warily, as if the kitten might suddenly launch at him and turn into a demon.

“I went down to the car to grab the chocolates I accidentally left in the glove box - totally melted, by the way - the chocolates, not the glove box - and I heard him crying under a nearby bush. I couldn’t find his mommy or any of his siblings if he has any. I think he’s all alone,” Andrew said.

Jonathan reached out one finger and ran it over the kitten’s exposed belly. The kitten hollered another protest and tried to wriggle away. Only well-timed reflexes on Andrew’s part kept it from landing on its tiny head.

“I wonder how old it is?” Jonathan mused.

6 W-K-S, Dennis said.

Andrew set the now very damp and highly affronted kitten down in front of the saucer of milk. The kitten sniffed it warily before deciding its hunger was too great to ignore. It lapped up the milk with dainty ferocity.

“Dennis said he’s a boy,” Andrew told him. “And he looks really underweight.”

Jonathan cocked his head, trying to see what Dennis and Andrew saw. The kitten’s fur was fluffy enough that it was hard to say if he was underweight or not, at least to Jonathan’s untrained eye. “He’s got teeth,” Jonathan murmured. “Does that mean he should be eating solid food?”

“I don’t know,” Andrew said with a frown. “He looks too small to eat solid food. The kibble would be bigger than his mouth.” He scrambled over to his laptop and booted it up to start research.

Dennis rustled around in the kitchen, possibly searching for something edible for a six-week kitten. Jonathan made a mental note to ask Cordelia if animals were allowed on the lease. He didn’t know if Andrew had already made plans in his head to keep the kitten, but know him the answer was yes. It would only be a matter of an hour or so before the kitten had a name, and then there would be no getting rid of it.

“Six-week-old kittens can eat solid food, but they should probably eat wet food,” Andrew announced. 

“Assuming Dennis is right about his age,” Jonathan murmured. He reached out a gentle hand to pet the kitten’s wet fur. It was black and white and fluffy, with inquisitive green eyes. The kitten finished off the milk and started licking himself clean as best as he could - which wasn’t very well at all. He peered up at Jonathan haughtily, as if judging him for watching the kitten’s movements.

“He looks about right,” Andrew said. He brought the laptop over to compare pictures on the internet to the reality of the kitten in the living room. “Can we keep him? Just long enough to get him healthy again.”

Jonathan hesitated. They would have to get him shots and food and medicine if he had anything wrong with him and a litter box. That was even assuming he would know what to do with a litter box. “I don’t know, Andrew,” Jonathan said. “The animal shelter would have better resources to take care of him.”

Andrew nodded, eyes downcast. “Of course. Yeah. I’ll start looking for the nearest one.”

Jonathan studied him out of the corner of his eye. Andrew had chosen to help the crying kitten he found in some bushes, and he had chosen to try to nurse it back to health. Those were decisions he had made without hiding behind Jonathan, and Jonathan had shot him down. No wonder Andrew doubted himself when everyone around him questioned him at every turn.

On the other hand, if animals went against the lease or if the kitten got really sick to the point they couldn’t help him or it became too expensive to handle, then they would be in a lot of trouble.

Jonathan didn’t know what to do.

“Look, you’re the one who found him,” Jonathan told Andrew. “What do you think we should do? Ignore what I said. What do you want to do with him?”

Andrew played with a loose thread in his shirt. He pulled it out and dangled it in front of the kitten, who watched him, bemused. “The shelter might not have enough space for him. They could end up killing him. And it’s our job to help the hopeless - even if it’s just a little kitten.” Andrew chewed on his lip. “I think we should take care of him until he’s healthy and we can find him another home.”

Jonathan wanted to point out how hard it might be to give up the kitten after it had been living with them for a while and they had invested so much in it, but this wasn’t Jonathan’s decision to influence. “Okay. Sounds good.”

Andrew gave up on enticing the kitten with the string and set it down on the towel. The kitten finally pounced, attacking it with tiny claws and teeth. “We should get food and toys.”

“And a litter box,” Jonathan added.

“Litter box!” Andrew exclaimed. “And...and, uh, what else do baby kitties need?”

Jonathan shrugged. “No idea. I think that should be it?”

“We can ask the salespeople at the store,” Andrew said. He stood up, grabbed a sweatshirt that was lying draped over the back of a chair, and put it on. The front of the sweatshirt had a large pocket; into the pocket went the tiny kitten. The kitten, at first bemused by his new surroundings, mewled piteously.

“He might pee on you,” Jonathan warned.

Andrew bit his lip, considering. He waddled carefully into the kitchen, where he could unravel several paper towels from the roll and gently line the pocket.

“Nice,” Jonathan said. “Ready?”

Andrew nodded. “Let’s go.”

\---

Two hours later, Jonathan and Andrew were the proud owners of wet kitten food, some replacement milk just in case, a litter box, several catnip toys, a mouse on a string, a small scratching post, and a couple of teething toys for when the kitten would soon begin to lose his milk teeth and grow in his adult teeth. There had been a twenty minute argument about whether or not they needed to invest in a cat bed, which only ended when Jonathan pointed out the kitten would probably be sleeping in Andrew’s bed with him anyway.

“He needs a name,” Andrew said as they unloaded their new goodies.

The sales clerks has all been very helpful - sometimes too helpful - and had squealed appropriately when they saw the kitten’s head poke out of Andrew’s sweatshirt pocket. And they had all asked the same thing: “What’s his name?” None seemed surprised when they admitted he didn’t have one yet and some had even thrown out a few suggestions.

“Do you have one in mind?” Jonathan asked. He put the litterbox in an unobtrusive corner and filled it with litter.

Andrew nodded. “His name is Data.”

Jonathan looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t his name be Spot? I mean, unlike Data’s actual cat, this guy has spots.”

Andrew shook his head. “Spot always had a good home and was well cared for. This guy was lost and adrift and has no family and we’re going to make sure he’s taken care of. He’s Data.”

Jonathan opened his mouth to argue they didn’t know for sure what Spot’s origins were, but instead he just said, “Okay, that seems fair. Hey there, Data.”

Andrew held Data up and waved a tiny paw at Jonathan. “Hi, Jonathan,” he said in a squeaky voice as Data howled a protest. “I’m the cutest kitten in the universe. You looooooove me.”

Jonathan stood up and dusted litter off his hands. “Sorry, Data. I’ve only known you for a few hours. It takes longer than that for me to fall in love.”

Andrew air-walked the kitten over to Jonathan and held him up in front of his face. “You doooooo love me,” Data/Andrew said. Data reached out with a paw and batted at Jonathan’s nose. “You will love me through the power of my kitten hypnosis.”

Jonathan blew a puff of air onto Data’s belly, causing him to squirm and squeal. Dennis entered the living room from wherever he’d been lingering. He unpackaged one of the catnip toys and floated it over to dangle in front of Data’s face. Data stared into the blank air slightly above the toy.

“Do you think he can sense Dennis?” Andrew asked, slightly awed.

“Maybe,” Jonathan said, watching the kitten. He and Andrew could always tell when Dennis was around, but it was hard to pinpoint a ghost’s exact location when they didn’t have a corporeal form. “Dennis, try putting down the toy and moving around the room?”

The toy lowered itself to the ground, but the kitten did not watch it. He was too focused on the exact same spot. As Dennis began to move around the room, Data’s eyes tracked him from one corner to another, up and down, following every movement. Jonathan grinned. “Nice!”

Andrew beamed at Data. “Clever boy,” he said. “I bet we can train him to do tricks and stuff.”

“What kind of tricks can cats learn?” Jonathan wondered.

“All sorts. I bet there are videos on the internet of all kinds of funny things cats can learn,” Andrew said. “We can teach him to - to play hide and seek with Dennis and to jump through a little hoop like he’s a circus cat and to chase his little tail. But first, we’ll start with the basics.” He carried Data over to the litter box and placed him gently in the middle of the sand. He used his finger to scratch at the sand, just like one of the sales clerks had told him. “When you pee or poop, you do it in here, okay?” Andrew instructed. Data mewled at him.

“Give him some food and water first, then put him in the box,” Jonathan said. “And be glad he’s as old as he is or else you’d be rubbing his butt every four hours.” The clerk had gone into what Jonathan considered to be way too much detail about how mother cats licked their babies to stimulate bowel movements when the kittens were too young to do it themselves.

“Can you get him some water? And bring me a spoon for the food?” Andrew asked. Data had started digging around in the sand even though there wasn’t anything to bury; he just seemed content to try to find the bottom.

“Get the water yourself,” Jonathan said. He started opening toys and tearing tags off of things. He tossed the combination food-and-water dish at Andrew.

“I’m busy,” Andrew whined.

Jonathan opened his mouth to counter again, but the dish lifted itself up into the air and floated into the kitchen. It came back a minute later, the water side mostly full. Dennis settled it down a few feet away from the litter box. He had also brought a spoon so that Andrew could dish out the appropriate serving of food into the other side.

“Thanks, Dennis,” Andrew said. He stuck out his tongue at Jonathan. “At least someone around here is helpful.”

Before Jonathan could retort, the house phone rang. Jonathan scrambled up to get it, one hand clutching a small heap of trash. “Hello?”

“Hey, are you coming in today?” Cordelia asked without any preamble. It was a good thing she had a distinctive voice, or else Jonathan probably would have been confused. “And if you are, can you pick up lunch on the way?”

It was half past four in the afternoon, but in the world of vampire detective agencies, that often was lunchtime. “Uh, yeah, I think so. Andrew’s not. He’s still recovering from his injury.”

“Who is that?” Andrew asked, jumping up. If his wound had been hurting him at all, he hadn’t shown any sign of it since finding the kitten. “Is it Cordy? Tell her about Data.”

“Okay, well our order for Chang’s should be ready in about twenty. That’s on your way, right?” Cordelia said.

“Yeah, I think - yes. It is.” Barely, but it would only be a ten minute detour. Fifteen, if traffic was bad (which in L.A. it usually was).

“Great!” Cordelia chirped. “See you soon. Don’t forget extra chopsticks.”

Jonathan hung up. “I’m heading into the office.”

“But Data!” Andrew protested. “He wants you to stay and play with him.”

The earlier desire to talk to Lorne had abated while he focused on Data, but now it came back in full force. “I have some stuff I want to look at. I won’t be staying late, unless we get a case they need me for.” Before Andrew could protest further, Jonathan disappeared down the hallway to his bedroom to grab a book he wanted to return to Angel’s collection. On his bed, freshly laundered and folded neatly was his laundry that had earlier been in his basket. Apparently Dennis had been busy while Jonathan and Andrew were out. And lying on top of a stack of shirts was the washcloth Jonathan had shoved under his bed. It was now clean and perfectly white, all evidence of their encounter erased.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update to the relationship tags again! Warnings for a polyamorous relationship I guess. Everything else is pretty tame.

“How can I help you, my little rice dumpling?”

The whole way over to the Chinese food place and then to the hotel, Jonathan had tried to come up with the right words to describe what he wanted, but now his courage failed him. He had gotten as far as asking to speak with Lorne privately, but now his mouth dried up and his voice died before it even left his throat. Lorne watched him with unending patience, a kind and gentle smile on his lips.

“Do you want me to guess?”

Jonathan huffed a humourless laugh. “If you guess, then I will…” He didn’t know how to finish that statement. Did Lorne really already know?

“I may not know the who, what, where, or why, but I have seen enough existential crises in my time. Something happened to you yesterday during the fight or afterwards that has you questioning something about yourself. Something big. And you’re hoping a reading from me will provide you with an answer. Am I right so far?” Lorne asked.

Jonathan took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He nodded. They were in Lorne’s bedroom for privacy; Jonathan sat in a chair that Lorne apparently had for situations just like this, while Lorne perched a respectful distance away, seabreeze clutched loosely in one hand.

“An aura reading won’t give me any of the specifics about what you did or what you’re questioning. It may not even provide any real insight into your emotions. You already know you’re in turmoil - you don’t need me to tell you that,” Lorne said.

“But you can tell me where to go next, right?” Jonathan asked. “Set me on the right path or - or whatever it is you do for Angel when he can’t figure things out?”

“As they say, your mileage may vary,” Lorne said. “What works for Angel might not be right for you. But if you want to give it a shot, I’ll do my best.”

Jonathan nodded. Then he sat quietly for a full minute. Then he nodded again. “Okay. Alright. Yeah, okay.” He nodded one more time.

“You need a little more rhythm than that for the reading to work,” Lorne teased gently.

“I suddenly can’t remember any song I’ve ever heard,” Jonathan admitted. He scrambled to remember a song - any song - that could work. The only thing he could think of was Vic Fontaine singing “The Way You Look Tonight” in the series finale of Deep Space Nine.

“Some day,” he started, his voice wobbling horribly, “when I’m awfully low. When the world is cold. I will feel a glow just thinking of you….And the way you look tonight.”

Lorne gestured for him to continue, a thoughtful frown on the demon’s face.

“Yes you’re lovely, with your smile so warm. And your cheeks so soft. There is nothing for me but to love you. And the way you look -” His voice cracked on the last word, and he could not continue. Embarrassed, he gave Lorne a helpless look. “Sorry.”

“You’re fine,” Lorne assured him. “Far and away not the worst I’ve ever heard - and what a choice! I wouldn’t have pegged you for a fan of the crooners.”

Jonathan blushed harder. “So, um, what…?”

“Well, I can see that you’re pretty conflicted. Whatever happened has you shaken like a James Bond martini. But once you get past the layers of questions and ruminations and doubts, you know what’s deep down in your heart?” Lorne asked.

“What?” It was barely more than a whisper. This could be the moment of truth; he wasn’t sure he was ready to hear it.

“You know it doesn’t matter. Beneath all the doubt all I felt was acceptance. It happened, and you can move on and ignore it or you can move on and embrace it, but either way you’ll end up moving on once you decide to take it in stride.” Lorne took another swig of his seabreeze.

Jonathan frowned. There should be more to it than that. Sure, he couldn’t change what had already happened but he wanted to know what it  _ meant _ . He was supposed to just accept it without understanding it? He wasn’t sure he could do that. “But… what if this thing that happened - this potentially life-altering thing - involved someone else. Someone who can’t really speak for himself so I have no idea what he thinks about it.”

Lorne peered at him curiously. “I think you’ll find that if this person has something to say, he’ll find a way to say it. And if you’re worried, then just ask! I know taking that first step can be hard, but you’ll never know for sure if you don’t find the courage to just talk to someone if you want to find out what they think.”

Jonathan groaned inwardly. He’d never been really good at talking about his emotions. Before he could say anything else, however, there was a frantic pounding on the door and Cordelia’s voice called out urgently, “Guys, get out here! Gunn’s in the hospital. It’s bad, we need to go.”

\---

It had been a trap. Shortly after noon, around the same time Jonathan and Andrew had been watching Star Trek on the SciFi channel, Cordelia had taken a call about what sounded like a ghost or a poltergeist haunting a nice house in Redondo Beach. Gunn and Fred volunteered to check it out on the promise that Chinese food would be waiting for them when they got back. When they reached the house, however, the whole thing blew up in their faces - literally.

They had just pulled up and were getting out of the truck when the house exploded. Fiery debris rained down all around them. Fred had mostly been shielded on the other side of the truck, getting hit only with a few small projectiles, but Gunn had not been so lucky. A piece of wood flew through the air and hit him with enough force to knock him unconscious. Fred had screamed and dragged him out of the way of more falling debris, keeping him safe until paramedics screeched onto the scene. They were both loaded into the ambulance, where Gunn started to regain woozy consciousness. At the hospital, Fred had been given a cursory examination and declared fit if a bit dehydrated, and instructed to drink water. She hadn’t been able to get any additional news on Gunn since admission.

By the time Lorne and Jonathan dashed downstairs, hot on Cordelia’s heels, Wesley was already gone. According to Angel, the moment he heard the news he ran out the front door and must have jumped on his motorcycle and headed straight for the hospital. It was early evening in Los Angeles, meaning traffic was a nightmare. Rush hour had been well underway for a while now and would not lighten up for at least two more hours.

“I’ll stay here until the sun goes down,” Angel said. “Keep an eye on things. I’ll join you guys as soon as I can.”

“Can you call Andrew and let him know what happened?” Jonathan asked. Angel nodded and picked up the desk phone.

Traffic was horrendous. Jonathan drove his beat up old Intrepid, with Cordelia riding shotgun and Lorne in the back, his face strategically hidden beneath a fedora. It wouldn’t fool anyone who looked at him directly, but he was counting on the hospital being too busy for anyone to try to question him too closely. “I’ll say I have a skin condition,” he told Jonathan with a wink. His casual tone did not match the worry that shone in his eyes.

Jonathan kept his eyes on the road as he navigated the dense rush hour traffic between Hollywood and Providence’s Little Company of Mary Medical Center in Redondo Beach. By the time he pulled into the parking structure, he was practically vibrating from tension. He’d had no less than three close calls involving cars dashing to get ahead of him only to wait in the long line of bumper-to-bumper traffic. “Hope it was worth it,” he had snarled at the first driver. By the third, he was resigned to his fate of getting stuck behind reckless idiots. “I think it would have been faster to walk,” he said, mostly to himself. Still, in spite of the frustration, driving in this nightmare traffic was still better than having to take the bus in it.

The hospital was no less busy than the streets surrounding it, but there was a well-tuned sense of rhythm and functionality even in the chaos. Paramedics came and left, nurses buzzed around, patients waiting to be admitted filled about half of the seats. Cordelia strode confidently up to one of the admitting nurses and asked to be directed to Charles Gunn’s room. The nurse gestured down a hallway to their right. “Room 16.”

Fred and Wesley were both sitting as close as possible to Gunn’s side. Jonathan caught a quick glimpse of all three of their hands tangled together above the covers before Wesley quickly slipped his away and stood up to greet the newcomers.

“Hey guys,” Gunn said weakly from his bed. “Cordy, can you use your divine intervention to tell these quacks to let me sleep?”

“He has a moderate concussion,” Fred explained. “Doctors want to keep him here for observation, and no sleep until they’re sure the danger has passed.”

“I’m fine,” Gunn protested. He didn’t look fine; he looked like he had just faced an exploding house and barely escaped alive. “What took you guys so long? Wes’s been here for ages.”

Wesley cleared his throat self-consciously. “I may have executed some not-entirely-legal manoeuvres on my motorcycle to get here.”

Gunn laughed. “Aww, English, were you worried about me?”

Wesley scoffed at the teasing words, but there was a relief in his eyes he could not quite hide. “Hardly.”

Fred rolled her eyes. “Two minutes ago y’all could barely tear yourselves away from each other. Nobody’s tricked by your macho manly ‘I don’t have any feelings’ tomfoolery.”

“‘Tomfoolery’?” Gunn repeated.

“Please,” Cordelia scoffed. “You didn’t see Gunn the time Wes got shot. The nurses had to threaten to put him in bed restraints if he didn’t calm down.”

“Who, Wes?” Jonathan asked. He couldn’t imagine a gunshot victim being all that active, but this was Wesley they were talking about. He wasn’t big on the whole relaxation thing.

“No, Gunn,” Cordelia said. “He nearly wore a hole in the floor by Wesley’s bedside from all his pacing.”

“I did not,” Gunn protested. “And I’m pretty sure that nurse was making a pass at me. She looked like she could be into some kinky stuff.”

“It’s a good thing your girlfriend is so understanding that you have a brain injury right now,” Fred said. “Imagine if she were the sort to get jealous.”

“Nah, my girl too cool for that,” Gunn said with a grin. “It’s my boy I gotta worry about.” He shot Wesley an even broader smile.

Jonathan’s mind did not make the connection right away. It was only from the way Wesley’s face turned bright red and Lorne’s eyebrows shot so high they disappeared behind his hat that Jonathan gleaned he may have missed something.

Wesley cleared his throat. “Exactly how many painkillers did they give you?”

“None,” Fred said. “Just some Tylenol ‘cause anything else would be bad for him. That’s all the brain injury talkin’.”

“I told you, I’m fine,”Gunn insisted.

Fred stood up and stretched her back. “I’m gonna go get some coffee. Anybody else want anything?”

“Me,” Gunn said immediately. “If I gotta be up all night, then I’mma need some caffeine.”

“Take it up with the nurses,” Fred told him, leaning over to press a kiss to his forehead. “Anyone else?”

Wesley and Cordelia both answered in the affirmative while Lorne declined. “I’ll come with you,” Jonathan offered. He wasn’t sure if he wanted coffee yet or not, and Fred would need help carrying all the cups back anyway.

The left the room and headed towards the lobby. “Think the coffee’s any good in the cafe?” Fred wondered aloud.

“Don’t know,” Jonathan murmured, squeezing out of the way as a nurse pushed a man in a wheelchair down the hall. His closest experience to hospital coffee had been what he saw on medical dramas, which always avowed that the coffee was terrible. Of course none of those medical dramas took place in a place quite like Redondo Beach, so maybe the coffee would be better here. “There’s a Starbucks across the street, I think.”

“Perfect.” Fred led the way towards the exit sign and out onto the street. It was not the same side of the building Jonathan had pulled the car into the parking structure, so there was a bewildered moment of trying to gain their bearings before they found the right street to cross.

Even though the evening was wearing on, the Starbucks was still quite busy. As Jonathan and Fred stood in line, Jonathan cast her a sidelong glance. He wanted to ask about Wesley’s blush and Gunn’s dopey grin, but he also didn’t want to pry. Fred didn’t seem to notice his curiosity as she studied the drinks board, trying to pick what sounded good.

By the time it was their turn to order, Jonathan still hadn’t found the courage to ask. He mumbled his request to the barista and let Fred pay for the lot with cash. They stood by the pickup station, waiting for their drinks to be called. Fred spoke at last. “Nobody knows what happened,” she said softly. “Wes and I were talking before y’all got there. The police and firemen are investigatin’ but they wouldn’t be able to tell if the explosion was caused by a self-destructive or negligent ghost or poltergeist, or if it was a setup by Wolfram and Hart. All they can say is if it was a gas leak or somethin’.” She sighed, weary. “This job is dangerous.”

“I know,” Jonathan said.

“You don’t know,” Fred snapped. She winced. “I’m sorry. It’s just… I love Charles so much. And he loves me. And we wanna protect each other but sometimes things happen beyond our control, like today. A-and now with this new thing with Wesley….”

“Order for Fred?” the barista called.

Jonathan grabbed the drinks tray. Fred plucked her own out of its little nest and held it protectively against her chest. They left the coffee shop, but Jonathan wanted to hear more about what Fred had been about to say. “What new thing with Wesley?” he asked as they waited for the crossing light to change.

Fred looked like she might not answer for a moment before relenting. “We weren’t gonna say anything until we got everythin’ figured out, but the stuff that happened this summer - it made us realise a few things about ourselves. Losing Wesley hurt. What hurt worse was that we lost him to something we could have helped him avoid. But he didn’t come to us because he felt like he had to keep it to himself. I’m sick of him thinking no one has his back, and Charles agrees. We both love him very much.” She blushed now, not quite as deeply as Wesley’s, but close. “He wasn’t sure he was ready for what we had in mind, but when he heard about Charles’ injury, he said it opened his eyes.”

“Oh.” Jonathan did know what to say. He wasn’t sure he really understood. Fred and Gunn...and Wesley? Together? Like a couple, but three? A triple? He’d heard of threesomes before, but he always assumed that should involve two girls and a man, and was only about sex not necessarily a relationship. That would be like...polygamy, which was definitely against what most people would consider normal. Some distant echo of a memory (Swedish twins?) pinged at the edge of his mind, but it was gone before he could grasp it fully. “That’s…”

“You don’t have to say anythin’,” Fred assured him. “Thanks for listening. And please don’t tell anyone until we’re ready.”

“I won’t,” Jonathan promised. The light turned. “Uh, but Fred… neither of them are….are gay, are they? How’s that even going to work?”

Fred shrugged. “We don’t know where our boundaries are yet. It might not involve sex. But if it does - well, there’s more to this world than just black and white, gay and straight, you know?”

Jonathan nodded even though, no he didn’t know. Or at least, he was only just starting to understand. Something loosened in his chest that had been tightening ever since he woke up. There was more to this world than just black and white, and Jonathan had gotten a glimpse of that grey world in between. That was all.

When they returned to Gunn’s room, Andrew had arrived via bus and was hovering worriedly by Gunn’s bedside. “Where’s Data?” Jonathan asked him, half worried he had sneaked the kitten into the hospital under his sweatshirt.

“I left him at home with Dennis,” Andrew replied.

“What data?” Wesley asked.

“Isn’t that the robot from Star Wars?” Cordelia asked. Jonathan glared at her; he was pretty sure anyone who dated Xander Harris for over a year would know the difference between Star Wars and Star Trek.

“Data is an  _ android _ in Star  _ Trek _ ,” Andrew corrected. “He is very lifelike and is played by Brent Spiner. You must be thinking of C-3PO, human-cyborg relations. He is played by Anthony Daniels and does not have the smooth, humanesque movements Data has, but moves in a much more robotic fashion; but he and his counterpart R2D2 show an impressive ability to feel emotions, unlike Data, who feels no emotions at all. Most notably -”

“Forget I said anything,” Cordelia said. “What does an android from Star Trek have to do with Dennis?”

“Andrew found a kitten and is taking care of him until he’s big enough to go to a new home,” Jonathan explained.

“I named him Data,” Andrew announced proudly. “We think he’s about six weeks old and he really likes Dennis.”

The conversation carried on, but Jonathan didn’t participate much except to occasionally voice his opinion. Mostly, though, he was watching Gunn and Wesley. They were much friendlier towards each other than they had been ever since Wesley rejoined the group. Based on what he had gleaned from conversations with Lorne and Cordelia, however, they had been close before Wesley’s betrayal. Nobody seemed confused or surprised by the camaraderie between the two, so maybe this closeness just looked to the others like a return to their previous friendship.

It was strange to think that two men who had previously been close friends and recently estranged rivals were now heading towards being potential lovers. Jonathan cast a sidelong look at Andrew. He cared about his best friend, sure, but could they ever -? Jonathan squashed that thought before it could go any further. It was too weird to even consider. They were like brothers and would never be anything other than that. But Dennis…

Eventually, shortly after the sun went down, Angel arrived. He had sneaked in Gunn’s portion of Chinese food, much to Gunn’s delight and Fred’s consternation. She also hadn’t eaten lunch, and her stomach was starting to protest the lack of food.

“You could share,” she groused at Gunn, who gave her an incredulous look.

“You’re an eating machine. I give you some of my food next thing you know, you’ve eaten all of it and probably the table too,” he teased her. “Baby, you can go get some food if you want. I’ll be okay here.”

“I’ll stay with him,” Wesley offered softly.

Still, Fred hesitated. “Alright,” she agreed at last. “Make sure he doesn’t go to sleep.”

“I’ll stay, too,” Angel offered, while Cordelia, Andrew, and Jonathan prepared to leave with Fred. Cordelia wanted to get back to the hotel, while Andrew and Jonathan were eager to return to their apartment and the waiting kitten. Jonathan didn’t mention it out loud, but he had an extra incentive to return to the apartment.

Traffic was much lighter as Jonathan drove the girls to pick up Gunn’s truck from the scene of the explosion. There were cordons around the demolished house and its closest neighbours, but the street itself had been opened back up to normal traffic. After much grumbling from Cordelia about being seen driving such a monstrosity, Fred took the keys from her and hopped into the driver’s seat. “It’s my boyfriend’s truck anyway,” Fred said.

“No arguments here,” Cordelia said. “I’ll just slide down low so no one will actually see me in it.”

Normally Jonathan would feel a small amount of pride that Cordelia would rather be seen in his piece of crap car than in Gunn’s truck, but he was too distracted wondering how Fred would start referring to Wesley if their relationship became known. Boyfriend One and Boyfriend Two? Boyfriend and Lover? Or would he always remain simply Wesley?

Jonathan and Andrew waved farewell to them and headed through the darkened streets towards home.

When Andrew opened the front door, Data was nowhere to be seen. Dennis used his favourite sharpie to gesture them towards the couch, where Data had made himself a nest underneath. He blinked sleepily up at the two large faces peering down at him, then chirruped.

“Are you hungry?” Andrew cooed at him. He mewled in response.

Confident that Andrew had this under control, Jonathan stood up and backed away far enough he won’t be accidentally overheard. “Can I talk to you in my room?” he murmured under his breath.

Dennis nodded his pen. Jonathan led the way into his room and closed the door behind him. He took a deep breath. He had tried to rehearse this on his way home but ideas kept piling on top of each other in a mad rush. Now, he just said what felt right.

“Look, I’m...I’m not gay,” he said. “There’s nothing wrong with being gay, but...I don’t think I am. But…” Here he faltered, steeling himself to continue. “But I really like you. And last night...was awesome. So...thank you.” He tried to smile, but it wavered in his self-consciousness. “I wouldn’t mind if it happened again sometime. But - I mean, only if you want to, that is. What, uh….what do you think?”

A cold touch brushed through Jonathan’s hair and then down to his lips - a ghostly caress. Jonathan’s mouth opened automatically, breathing him in.

_ You’re welcome, _ the touch seems to say. 

“You… you don’t mind doing that?” Jonathan asked, just to make sure.

The touch travels lower, brushing against his crotch: a gesture of acceptance and sharing Jonathan’s desire for more.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There is a sex scene at the beginning and at the end of this chapter

“Jonathan!” Andrew called through the bathroom door. “What’s taking so long?”

Jonathan screwed his eyes shut and shoved his fist into his mouth to stifle a low groan. Once his breath was under control, he inhaled deeply and said in as normal a voice as possible, “Almost done. Gimme a minute.”

Or five, if Dennis had his way.

It had been over three weeks since Jonathan’s admission that he wouldn’t mind if Dennis touched him intimately again. In that time, Dennis had brought Jonathan to orgasm no less than ten times. The last time Jonathan had come this often, he had been a horny teenager just discovering his body and masturbating nearly every day. Jonathan wasn’t sure if there was a word for what they did - they weren’t fucking because that should imply both of them were getting off; they definitely weren’t “making love”; perhaps they could technically be having sex, but he didn’t like the clinical connotations of the phrase.

Regardless of the proper word for their liaisons, they were becoming more and more frequent. At first, it was just on the nights Jonathan clearly needed to relieve some stress. Then it was any night Jonathan didn’t immediately fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. They had agreed (with some small indignation on Dennis’ part at Jonathan’s assumption he might spill the beans) to keep what they did quiet. Jonathan didn’t want to talk about it until he understood it himself, and he appreciated Dennis’ compliance with that wish.

Now, it seemed, their trysts were evolving away from being nighttime-only affairs. Jonathan had stepped into the shower about fifteen minutes ago and had been in the middle of washing his body when a chill announced Dennis’ presence. In spite of how many times Dennis had now personally stripped Jonathan of his clothes, Jonathan’s first reaction was still to try to cover himself, even as his body reacted positively towards the intrusion.

Dennis had picked up the softest washcloth, soaked it thoroughly, and began running it up and down Jonathan’s back. This was their version of foreplay: Dennis massaging and manipulating Jonathan’s muscles into relaxation, making him feel soothed and pliant as his cock hardened at the unspoken promise of sexual release. Hot water poured down Jonathan’s body as the washcloth travelled down his arms and up his chest, rubbing teasing circles around his nipples. He wished, not for the first time, that he could touch back, that he had warm flesh to hold and grab and guide. At least on the bed, he could tangle his fingers in his sheets; here in the shower there was nothing to hold onto except the cold tile and the metal shower head. He braced his hands against the wall, drinking in the chill contrasting against the hot water. Dennis continued to tease, running the washcloth down Jonathan’s leg and then back up to his hips and across to repeat on the other leg but never once touching Jonathan’s cock.

At last the washcloth drifted down to Jonathan’s balls and then up the length of his cock to the tip. Dennis began to stroke Jonathan with steady, firm touches that sent ecstatic thrills racing up Jonathan’s spine. He had been so close - precum leaking from the tip of his cock and knees trembling with the effort of holding himself up - when Andrew’s shout jerked him out of the moment and knocked him forcefully away from the edge of orgasm.

Now, Dennis squeezed the base of his cock, causing him to squeak in a very unmanly way. The water was turning cold, and he needed to get out of the shower before Andrew got impatient, but he also didn’t want to demand anything of Dennis. He saw this as a favour - probably the biggest, strangest favour anyone had ever done for him - and as the recipient of the favour, it would be graceless of him to make demands.

Dennis, fortunately, seemed to sense the need to end quickly. He redoubled his efforts, and within moments, Jonathan’s cock pulsed and cum shot out of the tip to wash down the drain. Jonathan panted noiselessly, lethargy and happiness seeping into every inch of his body. He rinsed off carefully but quickly before finally shutting off the water. “Thanks,” he muttered under his breath because it seemed weird to not say anything but even weirder to say anything else.

Dennis puffed out the shower curtain in response.

After dressing in a hurry - clothes sliding over damp skin, wet hair soaking into his shirt collar - Jonathan left the bathroom and hurried out to meet Andrew in the living room. Andrew was waiting with Data in his lap, the kitten looking bewildered at his new getup.

“Finally,” Andrew said, standing up. “You took forever. Data was getting impatient.”

Data didn’t look impatient. He looked confused. Andrew cradled him carefully in his arms and led the way to the front door.

“Aren’t you going to let him walk on his own?” Jonathan asked. “Isn’t the whole point of leash-training him to get him to walk on his own?”

“Today he’s just getting used to the harness,” Andrew said. “Do you have the treats?”

Jonathan grabbed the bag of kitty treats off the coffee table and shoved a few into his pocket. “Yeah, I got them.” He patted down his pockets to make sure he had his wallet, cell phone, and keys. “I’m ready.”

Three weeks after Data came mewling into their lives, the boys had yet to begin searching for a new home for him. Although Cordelia had said small pets were allowed by the lease as long as they paid an extra deposit, Jonathan and Andrew had agreed that Data deserved the best kind of home, which wasn’t intermittently attacked by ninja-lawyers. Yet, after getting Data his shots and buying him all kinds of food, treats, toys, and necessities, neither of them had bothered to put up signs for “Cat: free to a good home.” They kept saying stuff like “after we make sure he’s really litter box trained” or “after we get him switched over to dry food only” or “after we leash train him; leash training him will make him a more desirable pet.”

These were starting to sound like hollow excuses to Jonathan’s ear. Half of them came from his own lips, though, so he could hardly judge. Dennis, too, enjoyed having Data around for the times when he was all by himself or to keep him entertained when Jonathan and Andrew were asleep.

Today would mark Data’s first venture outside the apartment since getting his shots right after his rescue. They were just going to the hotel for a little while so Data could roam around a new space on his leash while surrounded by familiar people. They also planned to go to Petco afterwards to show off how much progress Data had made to all the employees who had cooed over him on that first trip.

The days were becoming cooler as autumn sank into the air. Jonathan pulled on a jacket before leaving the apartment, and Andrew tucked Data into his sweatshirt to make sure he didn’t get a chill. “‘Bye, Dennis,” they both called out as they stepped into the complex’s hallway.

When they arrived at the hotel, there was a stillness in the air that felt strange to disturb. Things had been pretty hectic for the last three weeks, but now everything was calming down again, which was why Andrew figured it would be okay to bring the kitten in for his first outing. The quiet was broken with Fred’s squeal as she saw Andrew.

“Gimme, gimme, gimme,” she cried, holding her hands out for Data.

Andrew handed the kitten over with a flourish. “Ohhh, he’s gotten so big,” Fred said, holding him up in the air so that she could kiss his little paws.

“Hey little buddy,” Lorne crooned, holding out his fingers for Data to sniff. Data regarded them all with wide-blown pupils.

“Here, put him down in the office,” Angel said.

Fred carried Data into the office, where everyone crowded around and closed the doors so he wouldn’t be able to escape. Cordelia had laid out some newspapers and a wee-wee pad since there wasn’t a litter box for him to use.

“Dennis and I have been teaching him tricks,” Andrew announced proudly.

“I didn’t know cats could even be taught tricks,” Cordelia said, running one perfectly manicured hand along Data’s tiny spine.

“I dunno, you managed to teach Angel plenty of tricks,” Gunn mused, smirking at his boss.

“Wait, what?” Angel said. “Are you saying I’m like a cat?”

“Stubborn, willful, only like to be touched on your own terms,” Lorne said. “Honey, you’re not  _ like _ a cat, you are one.”

“Nooooooo, Angel’s not anything like a cat,” Andrew said, shaking his head firmly.

“Thank you,” Angel said.

“He’s more like a puppy.”

Angel glared at him, stung by the sudden betrayal. “Will everyone please stop comparing me to tiny animals?”

“I agree with Andrew,” Cordelia said, ignoring Angel. “Total puppy: eager to please, dopey grin, and once he latches onto something it’s impossible to get him to let go.”

“Also, if he doesn’t get to take a walk at least once every night he gets whiny,” Fred added.

“Hey -!”

“Plus, cats like to bask in the sunlight,” Andrew said.

“So do dogs,” Angel argued. “I’m not a fluffy little pet, I’m a big, scary vampire! I could kill you all if I chose.”

There was a pause as everyone considered Angel’s outburst.

“But not like a rottweiler or pitbull,” Gunn said, turning back to the matter at hand. “Something big enough to do damage if threatened but ultimately isn’t your first thought when you think ‘dangerous.’”

“Like a husky?” Andrew suggested.

“Exactly.”

“I am too scary,” Angel muttered darkly, hunkering down in his chair. “I’m terrifying.”

“Of course you are, sweetie,” Cordelia assured him.

“When are you gonna put him up for adoption?” Fred asked, indicating the kitten who was now trying to climb Angel’s desk.

“Once he’s leash trained,” Andrew said. “It shouldn’t take long, and it’s a really great selling point.”

“I thought he was going to be free to a good home?” Cordelia said. “Why do you need a selling point?”

“Because a kitten raised by Andrew Wells and Jonathan Levinson isn’t going to be just any ordinary kitten,” Andrew said. “He’s going to be the Remington Steele of kittens.”

“An ex-con kitten?” Fred asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No, a kitten who has a wide variety of useful skills,” Andrew said.

“Lazarus Long,” Jonathan supplied, but he wasn’t sure if anyone would catch the reference. If Dennis were here, he would; having just finished Heinlein’s  _ Methuselah’s Children _ , Dennis would be familiar with the litany of what Lazarus considered to be useful skills. Andrew and Jonathan didn’t quite see eye to eye on what constituted “useful skills” for a cat (seriously, nobody expected a cat to be able to play fetch), but when it came to Data’s upbringing, Jonathan let Andrew take charge. Still, he would be sad to see the little fluffball leave.

Andrew and Data continued to hold court in the office throughout the day. The kitten got used to having his harness on to the point that he fell asleep in Andrew’s lap while wearing it. The others drifted in and out of the office, working on various projects; even Angel couldn’t help but smile when he saw Data. The kitten didn’t even have to be doing anything particularly cute - his very existence made people happy. Jonathan couldn’t imagine their lives without him. It had only been three weeks, but Data has become so ingrained into their daily routines that Jonathan was forgetting what life was like without him.

In order to keep himself from being distracted by people coming into the office to see the kitten all day, Jonathan tucked himself into a corner behind Cordelia’s desk and picked up a book on demon warding rituals from the lower Andes. Wesley had thought he might find it interesting; so far, all he found in it was a good pretext for daydreaming.

In high school, Jonathan had a secret superpower: the ability to become invisible. It would have been a great superpower to have if it had been at-will. But his cloak of invisibility came and went at the most inopportune times. Occasionally, though, this superpower led to some interesting discoveries, like the time he had overheard Mandy Best talk about how she had gotten drunk and kissed a girl at Tyler Hughley’s crazy party on Friday. Or the first time he had heard of “demon slaying” in regards to Buffy Summers. Or when he heard that Mr. Giles kept a stash of porn inside the locked cage in the library (this one proved false, but the highly dangerous magic books Jonathan  _ had _ found back there made for some interesting reading nonetheless).

Lately, the superpower had been disappearing as Jonathan found himself more and more surrounded by friends. People asked his opinion on things, even when it wasn’t his area of expertise. They said “sorry” or “excuse me” when they bumped into him. They remembered to ask him for his lunch order when they called it in. Losing access to people’s small secrets and rumours was a small price to pay for inclusion in friendship and camaraderie.

Every once in awhile, though, the invisibility resurfaced and Jonathan overheard something that caught his attention.

“-spending a lot more time around the hotel these days,” Cordelia voice said. She was clearly making an effort to keep the volume down, but Jonathan had the perfect vantage point to hear her clearly. He craned his neck to see who she was talking to: Wesley. “Do you even have an apartment anymore?”

“I do,” Wesley said evenly. “It’s just easier to -”

“Oh, don’t give me that,” Cordelia said a bit louder than she meant to. Her next words were quieter. “Just tell me you are not cheating with Fred under the same roof where her boyfriend also lives.”

“Fred and I are not cheating on Gunn,” Wesley assured her quietly.

“Good,” Cordelia said. “Then what are you doing spending every night here?”

“I really don’t think -”

“Oh, come on. You know about the loofah. It’s only fair you give me something in return. Spill it,” Cordelia said.

There was a long pause. Jonathan was almost sure Wesley wasn’t going to answer in spite of Cordelia’s words (loofah? what did a loofah have to do with anything?), but then at last he spoke. “Fred, Charles, and I have entered an… arrangement, of sorts.”

“An arrangement?” Cordelia asked. “What does that mean?”

Wesley cleared his throat. “I never asked for any details about your arrangement with Dennis, and I would expect reciprocal courte-”

“Dennis used to get me off with a loofah. He was surprisingly really good at it. Now spill,” Cordelia demanded.

Jonathan didn’t hear what Wesley said in response because he was too busy trying to work around a sudden ringing in his ears. Did he really hear that right? Dennis had...been sexually involved with Cordelia? In a manner very similar to what he and Jonathan had been doing recently? Maybe...maybe he had misunderstood. Maybe there was a much more innocent explanation, but Jonathan’s mind had automatically supplied something dirty because he was thinking about sex more often these days than he had since before….well, just  _ before _ .

But what possible innocent connotation was there for ‘used to get me off with a loofah’?

Jonathan stared resolutely at his book, hoping that pretending to read will somehow trick his mind into not ruminating on what he just overheard.

He wasn’t special. He wasn’t the first person Dennis had...treated like that. Well, that was just fine. He never wanted to be special to Dennis. He never wanted this to be about...feelings. It was about doing a friend a favour. Jonathan wasn’t Dennis’ only friend.

A new thought struck Jonathan, one that made his blood turn to ice and his heart stop for several seconds. He wasn’t the only person currently living in the apartment. That could mean…

He shied away from that thought. He did not want to think about Andrew’s sex life, even obliquely. It didn’t matter who Dennis chose to jerk off in private. It’s not like Jonathan had any exclusive claim on him.

Jonathan looked at his book, trying to concentrate. His stomach gave a strange lurch.

He was shaken out of his reverie as footsteps approached. He set his book aside and looked up as Fred came out of the office. She held the wee-wee pad bunched up in one hand, a small grimace on her face. “D’you have any more of these?” she asked Cordelia.

“Yeah, a couple more in my desk.” Cordelia came around to open one of her desk drawers and looked at Jonathan, surprised. “I didn’t see you there,” she said - a common phrase kids had used to say to him back in high school, when they bothered to speak nicely to him at all.

“I just sat down,” Jonathan mumbled, the lie slipping easily off his tongue. He couldn’t quite look Cordelia in the eye, but she didn’t seem to notice if he was acting strangely. She dug a new wee-wee pad out of her desk and took it into the office, leaving Fred to take the used one out to the dumpster.

While everyone else came and went in the office, Jonathan stayed resolutely in the same spot. People walked right past him for the most part, which suited him just fine. He felt inexplicably miserable. He figured it must not show on his face, because nobody asked him what was wrong. He gave up on even the pretense of reading, settling instead for mindlessly watching Cordelia’s screensaver with a scowl on his face.

“What’s got you so down, sugarplum?”

Jonathan looked up, startled. He’d been so lost in reverie he didn’t even see Lorne passing by, let alone that he had stopped to study Jonathan. “Nothing,” Jonathan said, reaching automatically for his book again.

“It doesn’t look like nothing to me,” Lorne said. He drew Cordelia’s desk chair out far enough that he could sit in it and leaned in so that he could talk to Jonathan in a lowered voice. His body blocked their interaction from the main part of the lobby, giving them some semblance of privacy. “Something go wrong between you and your buddy?”

“No,” Jonathan said quickly. “Nothing’s wrong. Why should anything be wrong?”

Lorne raised an eyebrow. “Methinks he doth protest too much,” he said, which caused Jonathan to wonder irritably when Lorne found time to brush up on his Shakespearean quotes between cases and aura readings. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” Jonathan said again.

“Do you want a seabreeze, then?” Lorne asked. “I don’t know about you, but a little alcohol always brings me a lot of clarity. Just a little, though. There’s a fine line between clarity and incapacitation”

Jonathan remembered the last time he had turned to drink for solace. It wasn’t a good idea, but right now his mind couldn’t see any reason not to have just one drink. Maybe Lorne was right, and it would help clear away the thoughts crowding his head and get him to focus on what he really wanted. Besides, Andrew could drive them home. “Sure.”

Lorne disappeared into the office for a few minutes, and when he returned he had another glass in his hand, which he gave to Jonathan. His own drink was topped off. “Cheers,” he said, holding his glass out to Jonathan’s to tap.

“Cheers,” Jonathan mumbled, and took a drink. It was sweet and tangy and bitter all at once, flavours commingling on his tongue. He sighed into the flavour, letting the alcohol hit his system.

“Feel better?” Lorne asked.

“No,” Jonathan admitted. “But at least it tastes good.”

Lorne chuckled. “Feel like talking yet?”

Jonathan shook his head. He wouldn’t even know where to start. As the alcohol seeped into his brain, he found he could only focus on one fact: he wasn’t special to Dennis the same way Dennis was special to him.

But if this was never supposed to be about feelings, then what did that specialness even matter?

Lorne sat with him silently, letting him marinate in his own thoughts and vodka for a while. Jonathan knew he was waiting until Jonathan started spilling his guts, but the words just wouldn’t come. He didn’t want to talk to Lorne, and he didn’t want to talk to Dennis. He definitely didn’t want to talk to Cordelia.

At that moment, Andrew comes flying out of the office, excitement radiating out of his every pore. “You guys missed it!” he cried. “Data just did the cutest thing. He - hey, why do you look so sad? What’s going on?” He looks rapidly between Lorne and Jonathan. “Did I miss something? What are you drinking?”

“Nothing to worry your pretty little head over,” Lorne started to reassure him, but Jonathan suddenly realised Andrew was exactly who he wanted to talk to right now. He might not know it, but Andrew held the answers Jonathan desperately craved.

“Seabreeze,” Jonathan said, lifting up his glass in a pseudo cheers towards Andrew. “Do you want one?”

Andrew made a face and shook his head. “I don’t think so. Why are you drinking? Are you sad again? Did Wesley say something bad?” He perched on the edge of Cordelia’s desk, trying to look casual but mostly looking uncomfortable.

Jonathan shook his head. He didn’t know how to ask what he really wanted to know… at least not with Lorne sitting here, listening in. Lorne already knew too much. He finished off his seabreeze, but this time instead of asking for another one he listened to his what his body was warning him and closed his eyes. He would get up and get some water in a moment. “I just wanted a break from thinking,” he admitted, the words tumbling from his mouth before he could stop them.

“Whatcha thinking about that you needed a break from?” Andrew asked curiously.

Jonathan opened his eyes and stared at nothing in particular. “Nothing,” he said at last. “How’s Data doing?”

“He’s fine,” Andrew said, but he still looked worried as Jonathan’s evasion. “But we should probably get going soon. We were going to take him to Petco, remember?

“Oh,” Jonathan said. “I forgot. I don’t think I should go to Petco right now. Can we go home? You’ll have to drive.” He dug his keys out of his pocket and held them out to Andrew.

Andrew took them. “Yeah, we can go home. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I swear I’m fine,” Jonathan promised him.

He got to his feet, pleased that the room barely spun and he didn’t stumble at all as he went to the water cooler. He poured a cup of water and sipped it quickly. “Let me know whenever you’re ready,” he told Andrew.

Andrew didn’t look happy to drop the subject, but he went to collect Data and say goodbye to the others. Everyone made sad noises and protests at Data being taken away, but Andrew waved them off by explaining kittens needed plenty of sleep and the hotel was overstimulating to him. He promised to bring Data again soon. Jonathan waved goodbye and trailed after Andrew.

Traffic was, as always in Los Angeles anytime before 9 PM, thick and difficult to navigate. Since Jonathan almost always drove, Andrew was not practiced in contending with the whims of other drivers. He hunched nervously over the steering wheel and opted to go slower and safer, even if it meant taking longer to get home. Jonathan idly pet Data until the kitten fell into a purrful sleep in his lap. He wished he had brought some more water for the trip.

Halfway through the drive, Jonathan was sober enough for his mind to be overwhelmed with thoughts again, but still tipsy enough to not be able to keep them contained. He blurted out the question that had been plaguing his mind for the last hour.

“How close are you and Dennis?”

Andrew was trying to change lanes and unsure if the person beside him was going to let him over. He frowned, not daring to look at Jonathan. “What do you mean?”

“I mean...how close are you?”

“He’s a really good friend,” Andrew said. “But he’s not my best friend, you know. We just hang out a lot, usually when you’re at the office but I’m not. We like the same shows, especially on the Food Network. We play board games sometimes. But you’re my best friend and there’s no way he’s gonna replace you. You don’t have to worry about that.”

Jonathan blinked. That wasn’t what he was worried about at all. Andrew didn’t know what he was hinting at, so that seemed like a good sign there wasn’t some secret trysts happening between the two of them - right? “Nothing else?”

Andrew finally got into the lane he needed. “Um. No? He likes to listen to my stories about work. He really likes hearing about your magic. He thinks you’re really cool.”

Jonathan blushed, glad Andrew was too focused on traffic to look at him. “He does?”

“Yeah, totally!” Andrew exclaimed.

“Oh. Thanks,” Jonathan said, not really sure what the appropriate response was. “He thinks you’re pretty cool, too.” It seemed like the right thing to say, to reassure Andrew that he wasn’t being left out or anything.

“I know,” Andrew said. “I don’t think he would bother spending time with us if he didn’t think we were cool. Can you imagine what it must have been like living with Cordy? She’s great but she’s not into sci-fi much. I mean, she can quote the popular phrases as much as anyone, but she doesn’t really  _ get _ it, you know? Which is terrible, but she always has time to catch up.”

“Yeah, she does,” Jonathan agreed absently.

Jonathan leaned his forehead against the glass of the window, feeling the vibrations rattle through his old beat-up car. Andrew was too focused on getting them home safely to chatter much more, but Jonathan had enough to think about. Would it be bad to bring this up with Dennis directly? Ask him what he felt about...them? And what he had felt about Cordy in the past?

No, better to just leave it alone. This wasn’t about feelings, he reminded himself.

When they finally got home, Andrew fed Data and put him down for a nap, while telling Dennis happily about all the cute things Data did in the office. Jonathan listened quietly, observing Dennis’ interactions as he sipped more water. Nothing seemed unusual or out of place. Andrew’s reassurances in the car helped set Jonathan’s mind at ease, and now that he was paying attention he felt reasonably sure there was nothing to be jealous of.

Not that he was jealous of Cordelia. Really.

\---

A couple weeks later, November 17th dawned with an unusual frost in the air. Jonathan burrowed deeper in the blankets, unaware of what was waiting for him the moment he stirred. Something felt off. His time with Angel Investigations - he was shocked to realise they’d been working for Angel for months now - had honed his instincts and right now his instincts were telling him someone was in his bedroom.

Jonathan carefully rolled over onto his back and poked his head out from under the covers. He was instantly greeted with two shrill blasts from glittery noisemakers.

Jonathan yelped and clapped his hands over his ears. Andrew grinned down at him and the air beside him (marked only by a floating party hat and noisemaker) felt somehow smug.

“Happy birthday!” Andrew cried, leaping up onto his bed. He was also wearing a party hat. “Get up, get up, get up!”

“Shouldn’t I get to sleep in on my birthday?” Jonathan groaned, trying to pull the blankets back over his head, but Andrew’s ass pinning them down prevented him from doing so. “Get off.”

“C’mon, we made you coffee,” Andrew said, grabbing Jonathan’s hand and tugging. “And cinnamon rolls for breakfast!”

Jonathan’s stomach took interest in the food while his brain agreed that coffee would probably be a good idea. Jonathan pushed back his blankets with a stifled moan. He was getting creaky in his old age.

The sweet scent of cinnamon rolls mixed with bitter coffee as Jonathan followed Andrew into the kitchen. His stomach growled in anticipation, clamouring for that sticky deliciousness. He poured himself coffee, fixing it just how he liked it, and sat down at the kitchen table where a hot, steaming cinnamon roll waited for him, piled high with frosting. “Did you make these from scratch?” Jonathan asked, awed.

Andrew beamed proudly. “Yup!” He had his own roll, but was waiting politely - if not very patiently - for the birthday boy to take the first bite.

Jonathan tore off a piece of cinnamon roll and popped it into his mouth. It was perfect. “That’s delicious,” he said, mouth full of frosted decadence.

Andrew grinned and dug into his own. “What do you wanna do today? Anything you want - anything at all.”

Jonathan shrugged. He hadn’t really planned on doing anything out of the ordinary. It was a Sunday, so he didn’t have to go into work if he didn’t feel like it. Anything outside of the apartment would mean Dennis couldn’t participate. “How about an MST3K marathon?” he suggested.

Dennis’ party hat floated into the kitchen. He had abandoned his noisemaker somewhere, but wasn’t quite ready to give up the festivities. He pulled open Andrew’s cupboard of baking supplies and produced a third party hat, which he brought over to Jonathan. It said “BIRTHDAY BOY” in bright glittery silver.

Jonathan opened his mouth to protest he was  _ not _ going to wear that, but Andrew and Dennis were both watching him expectantly. He closed his mouth and - feeling incredibly silly - slid the hat onto his head and stretched the string down around his jaw. “I look ridiculous.”

“You look like a birthday boy,” Andrew corrected him. “So just the MST3K marathon? Anything else? Nothing outside in the bright sunshine, right? Stay indoors?”

Jonathan didn’t know what to say. He’d had a few successful birthday parties in the past, but not since third grade. What did adults even do for their birthdays? He was 21 now, so he could go out to a bar that wasn’t too sketchy to bother to check his ID, but then Andrew wouldn’t get to come and he’d be all alone. He could invite Cordelia and the others, he supposed, but they probably had other plans.

“Just the marathon,” Jonathan said. “Maybe go back to bed for a little while since  _ someone  _ got me up at the asscrack of dawn on my birthday.”

“6:45 is not the asscrack of dawn,” Andrew retorted.

Jonathan snorted and sipped more coffee. He was just wearing a tee-shirt and boxers, and it was a little chilly in the kitchen. He thought about going back to bed soon. Maybe Dennis would follow him and give him a special birthday present - the sort only Dennis could give him. Or maybe in the shower. Jonathan stopped that train of thought before it could go too far and cause him a situation at the kitchen table. Things had been going well over the last couple of weeks, as Jonathan pushed aside his jealousy and just focused on what Dennis gave to him. He wished he could reciprocate somehow. He did his best with a constant stream of books and puzzles and games. Dennis accepted each one with delight and fascination.

After breakfast was over, Jonathan went back into his room, but he didn’t get into bed. He sat on the edge of it instead and remembered his last birthday. He and Andrew and Warren had still been swept up in the Trio stuff. It was before everything got too intense. All three of them had done a Dungeons and Dragons tournament, and Andrew had baked a cake. “An evil cake for evil deeds,” he had claimed while Warren and Jonathan practiced villain laughs. The day hadn’t been without strife, however. Before the evening ended, Warren had called Jonathan more than a dozen belittling nicknames and swiped half the frosting from his slice of cake. Things had changed so much since then.

Dennis entered his room and Jonathan looked up, shaken out of his reverie. The ghost brought with him a small paper-wrapped rectangle. “Hey,” he said.

H-A-P-P-Y B-D-A-Y, was the response. P-R-E-S-E-N-T.

How a ghost managed to put together a birthday present while being house-bound was beyond Jonathan’s imagination. He accepted it with disbelieving awe. “You really didn’t have to get me anything,” he said.

F-O-U-N-D E-B-A-Y, Dennis explained. A-N-D-R-E-W H-E-L-P.

Jonathan made a mental note to thank Andrew later, too. He opened the wrapping and inside found a small hardcover science fiction book.

MY FAVE BOOK GROWING UP Dennis explained laboriously. NOT 1ST ED BUT OLD.

Jonathan ran his hand carefully over the age-marked cover.  _ A Voyage to Arcturus _ by David Lindsay. “It’s beautiful,” he murmured. “Thank you.”

READ TO ME AFTER?

“Sure, of course,” Jonathan said. He set the book on his nightstand and looked up at Dennis. “It’s really awesome. Thanks.”

Dennis brushed Jonathan’s face, a cool touch against his blushing skin. Something not unlike a kiss pressed against his forehead. Jonathan swallowed.

OTHER PRESENT LATER, Dennis promised. The heat left Jonathan’s face in a mad rush to travel south, but he tamped down on the anticipation. He had a marathon ahead of him with his two best friends, and he didn’t want to be hard the whole time. He could relieve the tension himself in the shower, but the waiting, he knew from experience now, would make the eventual release all the more exciting.

\---

“SURPRISE!”

Jonathan almost dropped his book. He had just gotten out of the shower and put on some clothes before coming out to the living room to start their MST3K marathon when he suddenly found himself surrounded by all his coworkers gathered in his living room, watching him with delighted anticipation.

“What are you guys doing here?” Jonathan blurted out, as if the HAPPY BIRTHDAY banner strung over the television weren’t a dead giveaway.

“Andrew said you wanted to stay at the apartment to celebrate your birthday, so here we are,” Fred announced cheerily.

“Which is just fine by me, by the way,” Angel told him. Jonathan could have smacked himself for being so oblivious - that’s why Andrew was double checking he didn’t want to do anything sunshiny today. He had somehow arranged this party without once accidentally revealing what he was up to. Although this did explain why Andrew had been asking weird questions for the last week.

“Were you in on this too?” Jonathan asked Dennis’ floating party hat. The hat nodded.

“You make it sound like a conspiracy,” Cordelia chided him. “Did you really think we’d let you get away without some sort of party?”

“We brought presents,” Gunn added. He pointed to the coffee table, where a small stack of neatly wrapped presents stood waiting for him.

Jonathan felt a little overwhelmed. They did all this for him? Andrew beamed at him, clearly proud of the role he had played in organising this. “Thanks,” he murmured. “All of you…Thanks so much. For, you know, everything.”

“It’s no big deal,” Cordelia assured him.

She didn’t understand - for him, this was a very big deal. Jonathan bit his lip rather than argue with her, though. He was just glad to have them there. “Uh, what did you guys want to do today?”

“I thought we were doing an MST3K marathon?” Andrew said, puzzled.

“Yeah, that’s what Andrew said over the phone,” Gunn put in. “What’s MT3SK?”

Andrew’s eyes widened. “You’ve never heard of MST3K?  _ Mystery Science Theater 3000 _ .”

“They make fun of ridiculous science fiction movies,” Cordelia said.

“They have these cute little robots,” Fred added. “I loved that show as a kid.”

“I’m gonna make us an MST3-cake,” Andrew announced. “Get it?”

Jonathan couldn’t help but laugh at the horrible pun. His friends - or the fact that he even had friends who cared about him - wanted to do whatever he chose for his birthday, even if it wasn’t something they would normally enjoy. It was a novel sensation, one Jonathan wasn’t sure he would ever get used to. “I’ll set up the television,” he said.

Everyone settled into various seats around the living room. “Most of y’all missed my birthday in September,” Gunn grumbled. “Where was my party at?”

“We’ll make it up to you at Christmas,” Cordelia said, curling up as close as she could to Angel to make room on the couch for Andrew and Jonathan. Angel wore the same look he always wore when Cordelia got close to him: disbelief mixed with awe and happiness. It resembled what Jonathan himself was feeling right now.

For once, thoughts and doubts that he didn’t deserve so much goodness in his life kept themselves at bay.

\---

The party lasted for hours. Twenty minutes into the first episode, the group got into the MST3K spirit and began adding their own commentary. After a few episodes, Andrew got up to put the finishing touches on his MST3-cake, which turned out to be a regular cake that he decorated with icing to look like the iconic character silhouettes. He did a wonderful job, and everyone complimented his design skills. 21 candles graced the top, causing Cordelia and Gunn to both cry foul.

“I thought you turned 21 last year,” Cordelia said.

“I thought you were only 20,” Gunn admitted.

“No, I’m 21 now,” Jonathan said. “Born in 1981.”

“So where’s the alcohol?” Gunn demanded, but Jonathan demurred. He didn’t want to ruin such a great party by not remembering it in the morning.

After cake, Jonathan opened his presents to find a secondhand Playstation and several new and used games. He and Andrew had been making do without a video game console, never quite having enough money to buy one, so Jonathan was nearly beside himself with excitement. Andrew also squealed out loud when he saw some of the games, most of which had been chosen by Gunn and Wesley.

Jonathan figured Andrew’s present to him was the cake and cinnamon rolls and organising the party and helping Dennis buy his own present, but apparently there was one more thing that Andrew got just for him: a Limited Edition Star Trek Monopoly game from 2000.

“This is amazing,” Jonathan said.

“Wait until you see what I got you for Hanukkah!” Andrew had replied eagerly.

Jonathan’s mind reeled at that. Andrew had gotten him something for Hanukkah too? There were just twelve days between his birthday and the start of Hanukkah, so he hadn’t been expecting a separate celebration. Hell, he hadn’t even been expecting Andrew to know when Hanukkah was.

After cake and presents and several intense matches on the Playstation, the party began to die down naturally. Everyone bade their farewells. It was still early in the evening, but Jonathan felt like he could use a nap. There hadn’t even been any alcohol, but Jonathan was half-tipsy on over-socialization and multiple sugar rushes.

“Thanks for all this,” Jonathan told Andrew shyly as they surveyed the aftermath of the party. Lorne had helped clean up a bit, but the apartment was still pretty messy. Dennis swept crumbs off the coffee table and onto a waiting dustpan.

Andrew shrugged. “I just wanted to make sure you had a nice birthday.”

“Don’t worry about the mess, Dennis,” Jonathan said with a yawn. “We can deal with it tomorrow before work. Wanna read for a bit?” He picked up  _ A Voyage to Arcturus. _

S-U-R-E, Dennis said, taking the dustpan into the kitchen to empty it.

“I had an awesome birthday,” Jonathan told Andrew, who grinned proudly. “I’ll be in my bedroom if you need anything.”

“‘Kay,” Andrew said. “Let me know if you want dinner tonight.”

Jonathan, who was absolutely stuffed with snacks and cake and soda, could not imagine eating another bite for at least two days, but he just agreed and disappeared into his bedroom. Dennis followed shortly thereafter.

True to his word, Jonathan started off reading the story out loud, but soon Dennis was tugging the book out of his hands. Jonathan grinned, facetiously still trying to read until Dennis blew a cold, tickling wind along his ribs. Jonathan stifled his yelp, wriggling away from the sensation. He set the old book carefully on his bedside table, not wanting it to get knocked to the floor and damaged. “Can I help you with something?” Jonathan asked quietly, just barely keeping his smile in check.

I HELP U, was the response.

Jonathan laid back on the bed and helped Dennis remove his clothes until he was completely naked and hard, sprawled out without a hint of self-consciousness. He had stopped trying to question Dennis’ motives and whether or not he found Jonathan’s less-than-ideal body attractive. What was attraction to a ghost, after all? What mattered what that Dennis did this of his own free will and always made Jonathan feel good about it. Occasionally jealousy still flared within Jonathan’s mind when he remembered what Cordelia had said, but the pangs became fewer and further between as time went on.

And for a ghost with no corporeal or visible form, Dennis was remarkably inventive.

Jonathan hissed gently as a silk scrap of cloth - left behind by some tenant long ago and found stuffed into a corner, washed and soft and ready to be used - glided over one of his nipples, teasing it with tiny flicks. Jonathan’s stomach muscles jumped; it felt more fleeting than a solid touch but less unbearable than a tickle.

The cloth continued on its journey south, trailing over Jonathan’s stomach to the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. Dennis wasn’t touching his genitals - yet. He continued to tease and tantalize over every inch of Jonathan’s thighs, hips, and stomach until at last the cloth dipped down to glide over Jonathan’s balls and - at last, at last - wrapped around his cock and began to stroke.

Jonathan closed his eyes and bit back a moan. The silk felt amazing against his skin, cool and whispery like Dennis himself. His hands grabbed at the sheets below, desperate for something to hold onto. Once, in a fit of orgasm, he had tried to grab for Dennis and nearly fallen off the bed when there was nothing to hold. Now, he tangled his fingers in the blankets to keep himself from repeating the same mistake.

Jonathan felt something being stimulated inside of him, and he nearly jumped off the bed in shock. It felt good, but unexpected. Today was apparently going to be a day of surprises from start to finish. How Dennis was able to do that, Jonathan had no idea. “Oh my god,” he groaned, a note of wonder tinging his voice into a whine. “Do that again.”

Dennis did. Sparks flew behind Jonathan’s closed eyelids and all too soon he was coming all over the silk and his stomach, panting hard with the aftereffects.

Jonathan sank into the soft mattress, sated and happy. “That was amazing,” he murmured.

Dennis flicked his nose in response.

There was no contest: this was the best birthday Jonathan had ever had.


	22. Chapter 22

“Why aren’t we doin’ this at the hotel, again?” Gunn griped, squeezing out of the way as Angel opened the oven door to check on the turkey. “Remember that giant kitchen we have? Three ovens, two sinks, countertops large enough nobody gotta be piled on top of each other?”

“It would be a lot less crowded in here if anyone who wasn’t involved in cooking skedaddled,” Angel informed him testily, adjusting the turkey slightly and shutting the oven door. He tossed the oven mitt onto one of the few sections of counter that wasn’t currently being used.

“‘Skedaddled,’” Gunn repeated. “Did you just say  _ ‘skedaddled’ _ ?”

“We’re here because one of our chefs can’t exactly leave the apartment,” Fred reminded him, watching the mountains of food with longing. Her stomach rumbled audibly. Dennis wiggled his knife at her in acknowledgement. “Besides, this feels more home-like.”

Angel turned around to grab the potato masher and nearly collided with Jonathan, who had come into the kitchen to sneak food from what Dennis and Andrew were working on. Jonathan scrambled out of the way, just barely preventing his fistful of pilfered marshmallows from tumbling to the floor. “Okay, everybody who isn’t actively preparing food right now, get out,” Angel commanded.

“But -” Fred started, and her stomach finished her sentence for her.

Angel grabbed a family-sized bag of potato chips from the pantry and shoved them at her. “Out.”

“I came in here for some water,” Gunn said.

“Get it and get out. Jonathan, out. Everybody out!” Angel exclaimed.

“Even me?” Andrew asked, looking up from the appetizer he was preparing (something amazing-looking that involved bacon and figs and cheese).

“Andrew and Dennis can stay. Everyone else  _ out _ ,” Angel repeated one last time.

Jonathan obeyed, but not before grabbing another handful of marshmallows. Fred followed, happily munching on her bag of chips. Gunn came last, glass of water in his hand. They joined Wesley, Cordelia, and Lorne in the living room. Cordelia was trying to decide if it was too early to open the first bottle of wine. Lorne already had a glass of something alcoholic-looking in his hand - not his usual seabreeze, but something similar in alcohol content. Wesley peered at Jonathan and Andrew’s meager music collection, trying to find something appropriate for the holiday. Jonathan set his stash of marshmallows on the coffee table and popped a couple in his mouth.

“What crawled up Angel’s ass this time?” Gunn said in a quiet voice, lest sharp vampire hearing catch his words.

“Well, let’s see… This time last year his best friend wasn’t a former higher power with demonic blood running through her veins, his son was a baby and didn’t hate him, and he wasn’t still pretty fresh out of spending three months at the bottom of the ocean,” Cordelia said. “He’s having a hard time coming up with stuff to be thankful for.”

“What about the fact that we’re all safe and alive and here to celebrate Thanksgivin’ together?” Fred asked, frowning. “I mean, Connor isn’t here, but the rest of us are. We gotta count for somethin’, right?”

“I know,” Cordelia said. “And that’s what I told him, too. But you know how Angel gets when he’s sulking.”

Jonathan powered up his laptop and passed it over to Wesley, who was still unable to choose a CD. “We keep most of our music on here,” he explained. “Downloaded from the internet or ripped from CDs. If you don’t find something good, we can probably get it off Napster.”

“Holiday music?” Wesley asked, peering through the titles. “I assume Andrew must have some.”

Jonathan knew from experience that he was going to be listening to nothing but for the next four weeks: everything from the old classics to more recent pop hits. He had at least five different versions of Carol of the Bells. “It’s all in the folder labelled ‘Do not play before December 1st,’” Jonathan told Wesley. “But I guess since it’s Thanksgiving we can break the rule.”

“Ah, found it.”

As Nat King Cole’s version of O Holy Night played from the laptop speakers, Jonathan tried to imagine what it must be like for Angel right now. Sure he was surrounded by his closest friends, but his own son hated him and had tried to kill him. It wasn’t the lowest point in Angel’s long life, but compared to the relative high point of last year, this had to suck. Jonathan, on the other hand, was enjoying a Thanksgiving spent with his first real friends ever. For him, the comparison to last year was positive.

Still, he missed his parents. Tomorrow would be the first night of Hanukkah, and they hadn’t heard a single word from him in over six months. Not for the first time, he wondered what would happen if he just called them briefly - just long enough to let them know he was alive but couldn’t come home just yet.

Jonathan watched his friends, thinking. Out of everyone here, Fred was the only other person who had parents who might miss her for the holidays. Cordelia’s parents were in jail, and everyone else’s were dead or estranged. What made Fred choose to stay in Los Angeles with her friends rather than go home and see her family? Jonathan couldn’t imagine it. Given the choice, he would rather be with his folks right now. Or better yet, have them come here and see what sort of home he had managed to make for himself. Would they be impressed? Happy for him? He liked to think so.

“What are you thinking about?” Cordelia asked, nudging him with her toe.

“Nothing important,” Jonathan said. He didn’t want to bring the mood down. “Childhood Thanksgiving stuff, you know. Watching the parade and stuff. Can I have some of those chips?”

Fred passed him the bag. He took a handful and munched them thoughtfully as he listened to the others talk about their own holiday traditions.

“So if y’all don’t celebrate Thanksgiving, how do you know when to put up Christmas decorations?” Gunn teased Wesley.

“Usually when the nearest American starts complaining about how the British don’t celebrate Thanksgiving, so how will we know when to put up Christmas decorations,” Wesley rejoined. “The Academy usually put up a tree about a week before Christmas and took it down again promptly on Three Kings Day. We had a short holiday from classes, but our teachers liked to remind us that evil never rested, especially not on Christmas when the rest of the world would have its guard down.”

“Did it ever snow on Christmas there?” Fred wanted to know.

Wesley shook his head. “Almost never. There was one year it did, however. When I was twelve.”

“Sunnydale had a white Christmas a few years ago,” Jonathan said.

“I remember that,” Cordelia said. She touched her stomach reflexively, and Jonathan remembered it must have been shortly after her accident with the rebar.

Fred sighed dreamily. “That must have been lovely.”

“It was,” Jonathan agreed. Too bad it had melted within a couple hours. But for those couple of hours the world had been transformed.

“The day Hell literally froze over,” Wesley murmured. When Cordelia glared at him, he amended, “Well, the mouth to Hell in any case.”

“Let’s not talk about the Hellmouth today, alright?” Cordelia said.

At that moment, the conversation was interrupted by Andrew coming out of the kitchen with a tray of devilled eggs. “I have appetizers,” he announced.

Jonathan set the chips aside and scooped up an egg half. The yolk mixture was whipped to the perfect consistency and the light sprinkling of paprika gave it a sharp bite. The others joined him in thanking Andrew and chowing down on eggs. “Save room for the stuffed mushrooms,” Andrew warned before disappearing back into the kitchen.

The combination of food, friends, and music lent the apartment a festive air. Wesley and Gunn got into a feigned wrestling match over the last devilled egg; while they were busy goofing around, Fred swooped in and snagged it for herself. Everyone was allowing themselves to relax, forget about the day-to-day demon-fighting grind. Dennis or Andrew appeared regularly with small appetizers to keep them from going too hungry. “Make sure Andrew doesn’t overeat on all his own appetizers,” Jonathan instructed Dennis in a low voice at one point. Dennis gave him a snappy salute in response.

Eventually the three chefs were at a decent stopping point and came into the living room while the food cooked. Cordelia popped open the first of several bottles of wine and they toasted to peace and glad tidings and found family. Jonathan looked down at the mention of family, feeling guilty that he was here having a good time while his parents didn’t even know for sure that he was alive.

With just half an hour left on the turkey, there was a rapid knock on the door. Everyone paused what they were doing and looked over to first Jonathan, then Andrew. Andrew and Jonathan just looked at each other.

“Expectin’ someone?” Gunn asked.

“No,” Jonathan and Andrew replied at the same time.

“Who’s at the door, Dennis?” Jonathan asked. “Someone we know?”

Dennis nodded, then tapped out a quick three letters: S-O-N.

“Son?” Jonathan repeated. “What son?”

The knock sounded again.

“Should we answer it?” Fred asked, half rising from her seat.

“Whoever it is isn’t dangerous,” Jonathan said. Dennis would have warned them if it was. He walked to the front door and pulled it open.

Connor stood on the other side, scowling slightly and looking like he had at least attempted to make himself look nice. His hair was slicked back and his jeans were completely holeless. His shirt was even a nice polo shirt, though worn down in several spots. The whole effect was ruined by his arms crossed over his chest. “You gonna let me in?” he demanded.

“Depends,” Jonathan said. He didn’t know much about Connor, but what he did know made him suspicious and not very keen to comply. “What are you doing here?”

“I was invited,” Connor told him.

Still, Jonathan didn’t budge. “By who?”

“By someone who thinks it’s about time Daddy and I have a heart-to-heart,” Connor sneered.

“Let him in,” Angel said, staring down his son.

Jonathan felt a stab of annoyance about being told what to do in his own home, but he moved aside to let Connor in.

“Should someone check him for weapons?” Gunn asked, pointedly staring him down. The mood in the room had shifted from festive to tense, all eyes on Connor - except Wesley, who was watching Angel instead. Jonathan had a sneaking suspicion he knew who had gotten in contact with Connor.

Angel put on a tight smile. In spite of everything, relief showed in his eyes when he looked at his son. “How have you been?”

Connor shrugged. “Surviving. There’s this shelter that lets people like me stay for free. The lady who runs it seems to know a little bit about demons and stuff, so she lets me do my fighting and then come into the shelter past curfew to eat and sleep.”

Gunn shot a look at Wesley, who was still watching Angel. Cordelia looked at Gunn. “This lady named Anne by any chance?” Gunn asked.

“Yeah,” Connor said. “Why?”

“Huh,” Angel said thoughtfully. “Sounds like you’re doing pretty okay for yourself.”

Connor lifted up his chin defiantly. “Yeah, I am.”

Andrew fidgeted nervously, not sure what to do or say. He blurted out, “Do you want a stuffed mushroom?” There were few appetizers left, but dinner would be served soon, Angel had promised.

Connor blinked, caught off guard. “Stuffed with what?”

“Rice, ginger, soy sauce, and cilantro,” Andrew said proudly. “And a secret ingredient, but I won’t tell you what.”

Connor looked at the mushroom as if it might bite him. He lifted it up and took a tiny bite. His eyes flew open wide. “Holy shit.”

“Hey,” Angel exclaimed. “You watch your mouth.” He sounded just like any other parent reprimanding their teenage son. “Is that the sort of language you’re learning at the youth shelter?”

Gunn snorted. “That’s probably the mildest thing he’s heard at the shelter. Anne doesn’t allow swearing in front of the little kids, but the older ones got mouths no one can control.”

“Besides, I picked that one up living at the hotel with Gunn,” Connor said with a smirk.

“Yeah, and I told you not to repeat anything I said ever, didn’t I, you little smartass?” Gunn countered.

“Everybody stop swearing,” Angel said. “No more swearing!”

“Hey,” Jonathan protested loudly. “This isn’t your apartment.”

“Oh good, now everyone’s shouting,” Cordelia muttered. “Just like Thanksgivings with my parents.”

“Everyone hush!” Fred cried shrilly. “Listen to me. Angel, stop bossing people around like this is your hotel - it’s not. I know Connor’s your son, but he’s an adult and he can swear if he wants. Connor, stop swearing. Charles, I can’t make you stop swearing but you should be a better role model. Would you mouth off like this in the youth shelter? Andrew, your mushrooms are really good and what Connor meant to say was ‘Thank you.’” She sat down with a huff.

Before anyone could say anything else, the cooking timer floated in from the kitchen and tapped Angel on the shoulder. Any rebuttal he might have made against Fred’s outburst died on his lips. “Turkey’ll be done in five minutes,” he announced before stalking back into the kitchen. Andrew trailed after him, beaming at the high praise for his mushrooms.

“Somebody help me set the table,” Wesley said, stepping in.

“I’ll do it,” Jonathan volunteered. “I know where everything is.”

If Wesley was surprised at Jonathan volunteering to do anything within close proximity to him, he did not show it. Ever since Wesley had rejoined the team, they’d had a tentative truce, but never worked together. Even with spellcasting, Jonathan preferred to seek help from anybody else before resorting to Wesley. There were still some old hurts between them that had never fully been resolved. Jonathan had a feeling that was about to end.

They gathered the plates, cups, utensils, and napkins, carrying the lot into the dining room. Jonathan and Andrew never really used this part of the apartment, but today they had set up the regular table plus an extra card table. With nine people, it would be a bit of a squeeze, but they could make it work.

As Jonathan and Wesley worked to set everything up, Jonathan muttered, “That was really nice what you did.”

“What did I do?” Wesley asked innocently.

“Don’t play stupid,” Jonathan said. “It’s not very convincing. You were the one who invited Connor.”

“I happened to run into Anne a week ago,” Wesley said. “I got shot once trying to protect her shelter.” Jonathan wondered silently if this was the same gunshot Fred had mentioned or if Wesley had been shot multiple times. “She said Connor was staying with her.” He paused, his hands hovering over a plate. “I thought it might be time for the two of them to try reconciling.” He looked at Jonathan. “Thanksgiving is meant to be shared with family, isn’t it?”

Jonathan looked away. Wesley couldn’t possibly know…. “I guess so. You don’t think Connor’s going to try to kill Angel again?”

“I don’t think he’s quite so stupid to try when surrounded by people who would do anything for Angel,” Wesley said.

“I hope you’re right,” Jonathan said.

They finished laying out the dishes and utensils in silence. It was time, Jonathan felt, to forgive Wesley for everything that had happened between them, but Jonathan didn’t know how to quite form the words. He knew, from bits and pieces picked up in the last few months, that the woman Wesley had kidnapped was named Justine Cooper, and he had tracked her down a few weeks ago. She was alive, surviving. Wesley was turning into someone much different than who he had been over the summer. Someone Jonathan could almost look up to.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t figure out how to say that without it becoming overly sentimental, so he just finished the last place setting and nodded at Wesley. Wesley nodded back.

“Table is ready,” Wesley announced.

Angel, Andrew, and Dennis began carrying or floating dishes into the dining room, but it quickly became clear there would not be enough space to lay everything out. They decided to keep everything in the kitchen instead and treat it buffet style. It wasn’t the perfectly styled presentation Andrew had been hoping for, and he made a bit of a fuss at the decision, but there was no other option. Finally, a compromise: the turkey, gravy, and seasonings would be placed on the table, but everything else had to stay in the kitchen.

They settled into their places; Connor, who had been watching Cordelia closely ever since he arrived, slid into the seat next to her. Cordelia looked surprised but didn’t protest, though Angel glared at his son before taking the seat on her other side.

“A toast?” Angel said, raising his glass of champagne. Everyone followed suit, but before he could say another word, Cordelia slammed her glass to the table and grabbed her head with a cry.

Angel knelt by her side faster than the eye could follow, grabbing her and holding her. Andrew jumped to his feet, ready to come to her aid if necessary. Everyone else watched with bewildered anticipation.

“A vision?” Angel asked.

That didn’t make any sense. Jonathan had witnessed several of Cordelia’s visions and they never hurt her like this. That was what the whole becoming part demon thing had been about, after all: make it so the visions didn’t kill her anymore.

Cordelia lowered her shaky hands from her forehead. “Not exactly. More like a vision of what almost was.”

“What was it?” Jonathan asked.

“The end of the world,” Cordelia said. “Eternal darkness - the sun blotted out. The arrival of The Blessed Devourer.”

“Sounds about right for Thanksgiving,” Lorne attempted to joke, but nobody laughed.

“But we avoided that, right?” Andrew asked anxiously. “You said that was something that almost happened but didn’t?”

“Yeah.” Cordelia rubbed her forehead. Jonathan almost missed it, but she shot a strange look at Connor out of the corner of her eye.

“So why would the Powers send you a vision of something that isn’t going to happen?” Fred asked.

“A warning, perhaps?” Wesley suggested.

“I don’t know,” Cordelia groused. A pill bottle floated into the dining room and tapped Cordelia on the shoulder. She took it with a grateful sigh. “Too bad I got rid of all the strong stuff when I got demonized.”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Angel fumed, frustrated. He stood up and began to pace around the table. “Why would this vision hurt you? The demon blood is supposed to protect you from that.”

“The sense I got in my vision was that the demon blood wasn’t just to keep me alive. It was also supposed to make me strong enough for this Blessed Devourer guy,” Cordelia said.

“D’you suppose they took away the demon blood now that it isn’t comin’?” Fred asked.

“I don’t feel any different,” Cordelia said.

“You didn’t feel any different when you were demonized in the first place,” Gunn pointed out.

“Look, can we just forget about it?” Cordelia said sharply. “For now, at least. There’s nothing we can do and I’m pretty sure The Blessed Devourer not coming is a  _ good _ thing, so let’s just move on.” She lowered her hands from her face and drew herself upright. “I feel better already.”

Jonathan wasn’t sure she was telling the truth, but if she wanted to pretend that everything was fine, who was he to call her out? Angel reluctantly returned to his seat, but no longer felt like making a toast.

“Should we say what we’re grateful for instead?” Andrew asked timidly.

“Sure,” Fred said. “Why don’t you start?”

Andrew nodded. “Okay. Um, I’m grateful for everyone who is here today, especially my best friend, Jonathan.” He raised his glass.

“I’m grateful for a vampire who knows how to baste a turkey to perfection,” Gunn said, also raising his glass.

“I’m grateful for a thriving business and a roof over our heads,” Fred said.

“I’m grateful to have been accepted back into your lives and your trust,” Wesley said quietly.

“I’m grateful for Mariah Carey,” Lorne said. There were a few chuckles.

It was Connor’s turn next, but he didn’t seem to know what to say. “I’m grateful for demons to kill,” he said at last. It would have been funny if he weren’t absolutely serious.

“I’m grateful for extra-strength Excedrin,” Cordelia said, to more chuckles.

“I’m grateful for buried hatchets,” Angel said. “Metaphorical ones, not - not literal ones.”

Lastly, it was Jonathan’s turn. Everything he could have said had already been taken by someone else. “I’m grateful to have finally found a place to belong,” he said quietly.

A tenth glass floated over, with just a small amount of champagne in it. “What are you grateful for, Dennis?” Cordelia asked.

H-O-M-E, Dennis tapped. Jonathan translated for those who were not fluent in Morse code.

“Cheers,” Angel said. They all brought their glasses in and then drank the cheers.

After that, the rest of the afternoon was uneventful, but comfortable. Jonathan drank too much wine and nearly fell asleep on the couch while listening to Angel talk about the time he had run into a famous Kennedy on Thanksgiving. He woke up when Data decided he’d had enough of Jonathan’s light snoring and pounced on his chest. Everyone laughed, but it was a kind sort of teasing, rather than cruel. Still, Jonathan was embarrassed. Fortunately, everyone decided to leave shortly thereafter, feeling rather sleepy themselves.

Andrew was in pretty much the same shape as Jonathan: half-drowsy on wine and tryptophan. They had enough leftovers to feed a small army. They bade each other goodnight and stumbled to bed; Jonathan was asleep before his head even hit the pillow.

\---

The very next day was the first night of Hanukkah. Jonathan had made a tipsy resolution the night before, while listening to Fred’s phone call to her parents: today, just before sunset, he was going to call his parents and let them know he was okay. But not where he was or what he was doing. He couldn’t give that much away.

In the light of day, it seemed like a terrifying plan, but one he was determined to go through with. The whole day he jumped at shadows and tried to pretend he wasn’t a nervous wreck. Lorne tried to corner him alone a couple of times - presumably to ask him what was wrong - but Jonathan just barely managed to escape being alone with him. He had a feeling that if he explained to anyone what he planned to do, he would chicken out. Even if they were supportive. This was something he wanted to do all by himself without anyone else’s influence.

By three in the afternoon, he found an excuse to head home early so that he could get ready. Dennis greeted him with a surprised inquiry.

Jonathan swallowed. “I’m going to do something that I need some privacy for.”

He half expected Dennis to make a lewd gesture or comment with his pen, but he merely gave something vaguely resembling a salute and floated towards the kitchen to start dinner instead.

Jonathan picked up the wireless phone and held it in his hands before setting it back down again. It wasn’t quite sunset yet. He knew they would also come home early from work - maybe even take a half day to prepare food and be ready when the sun went down at quarter to five according to the newspaper. He would call them at four-thirty, which would give them about fifteen minutes before they would have to hang up to light the first candle.

His mother would have made latkes and matzoh ball soup and brisket, and his father would have made his perfect challah bread. For dessert they would have rugelach filled with whatever sweet flavour his mother was currently craving. His mouth watered at the memory. His parents were not the most devout or observant Jews, but during Hanukkah all of their family traditions came together in one long, happy celebration.

Jonathan didn’t even have a menorah.

He glanced at his watch. It wasn’t too late to buy one, but he didn’t know where there was a Jewish supply store nearby. Would a grocery store carry menorahs?

He realised the phone was back in his hand and he was squeezing it so tightly his knuckles were turning white. When had he even picked it up again?

Jonathan looked at his watch again. 3:55. Time was creeping by entirely too slowly.

He put a game into the Playstation and halfheartedly tried to play, but he couldn’t concentrate. He mentally rehearsed what he would say to his parents: he couldn’t talk long, he was fine, he wasn’t in trouble, but he couldn’t come home. Not yet anyway.

“Dennis?”

Dennis floated back into the living room in a small swirl of flour. Jonathan barely noticed as it settled onto the carpet. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He wasn’t sure what he had been intending to say. “Never mind.”

Dennis waited a few more seconds in case he said anything more before disappearing back into the kitchen.

4:22. Close enough. It might as well be sunset already, for all the tall buildings blocking out the horizon. Jonathan picked up the phone one last time and dialled from memory.

The phone rang three times - enough that Jonathan was worried they wouldn’t answer after all and he would have done this in vain - before there was a click and a slightly harried “Levinson residence.”

Jonathan’s mouth went dry. “Mom,” he croaked, tears filling his eyes.

There was a long pause before she whispered, “Jonathan?”

It took all his willpower not to bawl out like a baby and call her Mommy like he was six years old again. “Yes,” he said instead, his voice cracking. “Yes, it’s me. It’s Jonathan.” And then, because what else could he say, “Happy Hanukkah.”

His mother half-sobbed half shrieked into the phone. “Jonathan Levinson, you don’t call us, you don’t visit us, for nearly a year - you disappear off the face of the Earth - and this is all you have to say for yourself?!  _ Happy Hanukkah _ ?”

There was a soft rustling, then Jonathan’s father’s voice came on the line. “Son, are you trying to give your mother a heart attack?” he joked, but there was a heaviness in his voice that belied his tone.

Jonathan laughed wetly. He was nearly doubled over on the couch like his stomach hurt, but it was just to hold himself together like he might fly apart if he let go. “No, dad. I just wanted to call and say hi and let you guys know I’m okay. I’m still alive. And, um… sorry for disappearing like that. Sorry I haven’t gotten in contact with you before now. I…” He trailed off, unsure of what to say.

“Can you tell us what happened?” Jonathan’s dad asked softly.

Jonathan shook his head as if his parents would be able to hear it. “No. I’m - I’m so sorry, but I can’t tell you that. I did some really stupid stuff. But I’m not doing it anymore. I… I’m working with some people I knew in high school and making up for the stupid stuff I did. I, um… Andrew’s here with me. I mean, not right this minute, but we’re sharing an apartment and working together.”

“We’re really glad to hear that, son,” Jonathan’s dad said. “Andrew’s a good boy.”

Neither of them mentioned Warren. They had to have heard about his death - they always heard about every death even if they were blind to the real causes and chalked it up to “an unfortunate accident” - but today was not the day to bring that up. “I’m going to put your mother back on,” Jonathan’s dad said instead. “Try not to kill her this time.”

Jonathan’s mother made an indignant noise as she accepted the phone. “Are you taking care of yourself?” she demanded. “Are you eating properly?”

“Yes, mom,” he said, feigning exasperation. In truth, it made him feel safe, loved. His heart twisted painfully. He missed them so much. “I love you.”

His mother’s voice softened. “We love you too, sweetheart. When are you coming home?”

Jonathan brought his hand over his eyes. “I don’t know,” he said. “As soon as I can.”

She sighed. “I suppose that will have to do. Please try to at least make sure it’s before my funeral.”

Normally Jonathan would laugh when his mother tried to pour on the Jewish Guilt, but this time it simply wasn’t funny. “Don’t say that, please,” he begged.

“It’s nearly sunset,” she said. “Are you lighting a menorah?”

“No,” Jonathan admitted. “I didn’t think to get one.”

“Do you want to stay on the line with us while we say the blessings?”

Jonathan hesitated. He had planned to use the lighting as an excuse to get off the phone, but now he couldn’t think of why. What harm would it be to stay on for just a while longer? “Sure,” he croaked.

He was passed back to his father, who held the phone up so Jonathan could hear his mother rustling for the candles and a matchbook. She recited the appropriate prayers, and Jonathan closed his eyes, imagining he was right there with them. He was a kid again, looking up at the pretty flame and staring at his mother in awe.

When she finished, there were tears coursing down Jonathan’s cheeks. He swallowed. “Amen.” His father echoed him.

“I should let you go. We’re going to have dinner here pretty soon,” Jonathan said. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” they both answered. “Are you going to call again soon?” his mother demanded.

“Soon,” Jonathan promised. He just wasn’t sure when that would be. “‘Bye.”

He hung up, and swiped furiously at his eyes but the tears wouldn’t stop. He hugged himself tightly, curling up on the couch, clutching the phone.

“Who was that?”

Jonathan’s head jerked up. He hadn’t even heard Andrew come home. “It was my parents. I - I didn’t tell them where we are or anything. Just that we’re okay. You should call your aunt sometime.” He reached over to put the receiver on the cradle to recharge it.

Andrew was holding something neatly wrapped in his hands. He brought it over and set it down on the coffee table and sat down next to Jonathan, wrapping him up in a tight hug. A blanket settled over the both of them and squeezed tight. Jonathan relaxed into the combined embrace.

“What are you cooking?” Jonathan asked Dennis after a moment. His voice was almost back to normal, and he had stopped crying. “It smells great.”

“Dennis and I looked up traditional Hanukkah recipes,” Andrew announced. He over-pronounced the raspy  _ Ch _ sound at the beginning of the word, making it sound like he was hawking phlegm out of his throat rather than talking. “The brisket should be done in an hour and I’m going to make latkes. Anything else you want?”

Jonathan shook his head. “No, that’s - you guys are amazing.”

“And here.” Andrew reached forward and grabbed the present he had put down earlier. “I stumbled across this and just had to get it for you.”

Jonathan opened up the wrapping and pulled out a beautiful white book with a red rune on the front.  _ The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring. _ Jonathan ran his hand over the leather cover. “Whoa.”

“It’s the 1981 Silver Anniversary edition,” Andrew told him. “I tried to find copies of the other two, but apparently it’s kinda rare.”

“It’s amazing,” Jonathan said. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Andrew said, hugging him again.


	23. Chapter 23

December dawned with a bright new outlook. Six months ago, Jonathan had been in one of the lowest points of his life; now, he had a steady job, friends, contact with his family, a roof over his head, and even something of a lover. Granted, the “lover” was a ghost, and a male ghost at that… but Jonathan had decided not to examine the impact of those particular details until he absolutely had to. He was working on being grateful for what he had.

Andrew was starting to get into full holiday swing. He had continued making Jewish foods each night for Hanukkah, each more complicated than the last. They lacked the practiced perfection and nuance of someone who had been doing the same dishes for years, but Jonathan ate everything he made with fervor. It was all delicious.

On December 1st, Andrew woke Jonathan up by blasting “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” as he and Dennis hung homemade paper snowflakes on the walls. It was a Sunday, and Jonathan had been hoping to sleep in, but Andrew’s enthusiasm was catching. Once Jonathan made himself some coffee, he couldn’t help but get wrapped up in the holiday excitement.

Andrew glanced at Jonathan out of the corner of his eye. “I think I’m going to give my aunt a call today. It’s Sunday, so she should be home.”

Jonathan smiled encouragingly at him. “That’s a great idea. Do you want me to give you some privacy when you do?”

“Uh, actually… if you wouldn’t mind just staying with me?” Andrew said.

“Sure, no problem.” Jonathan unfolded the snowflake he’d been cutting. It was blocky and ill-formed, but he taped it up onto the wall with the others nonetheless. “Should we get a tree?” he wondered out loud.

“Can we?” Andrew demanded. “We don’t have any ornaments yet but we can string popcorn and make paper ornaments and hang them up, and maybe get some twinkling lights - oh, and an angel for the top, of course.”

“Of course,” Jonathan agreed. “What do you think, Dennis?”

Dennis nodded his pen enthusiastically.

“Maybe Gunn will let us borrow his truck,” Andrew mused. “Oh - do you think they’ll want to pick out a tree for the hotel lobby, too? I’ll call Cordy and see.”

While Andrew phoned the hotel to make plans with Cordelia, Jonathan continued his decorating efforts. Apart from paper snowflakes, there were also paper candy canes and paper trees carefully traced and ready to be coloured and cut out. There were even a couple paper menorahs and dreidels. Jonathan took another sip of his coffee and picked up a coloured pen.

Dennis didn’t really have the dexterity to draw or cut out the shapes, but he could hang them up without any problems. By the time they were finished, the walls were covered with multicoloured paper decorations, and they’d nearly obliterated a full roll of tape. Andrew had made arrangements for himself and Jonathan to meet Gunn, Fred, and Cordelia at a nearby tree lot. Before they left, however, Andrew wanted to make that phone call.

His fingers shook as he dialled. Jonathan wondered how Andrew would react if she didn’t answer. Probably throw himself even harder into holiday cheer, but there would be a shadow over it.

Andrew’s breath hitched. “Aunt Beth? It’s Andrew.”

Jonathan could hear a woman’s voice on the other end, but not the words. Andrew bit his lip. “Yeah… Yeah, I know. I just wanted to say that, you know, I’m safe and doing okay. Jonathan and I moved to L.A.! We’re working for a private investigation firm, and we’re really good at it. I don’t know when we’re going to be able to come back to Sunnydale, since we’re so awfully busy over here. Christmas?” Andrew glanced at Jonathan, who looked away. “No, I don’t think so. Christmas is our busiest time of year. There’s very little downtime for Private Eyes, you know. That’s why it took me so long to call - we, uh, we’ve been constantly on one harrowing case after another.”

More talking on the other end. “Tucker? No, I haven’t - oh, okay. Sure. No, I have no idea. Aunt Beth, please don’t say that… He’s not - okay. Oh? Are - are you sure? Can’t you just...fine. Well, I hope you have pleasant dreams. I love you.” He paused, listening to the response. “‘Bye.”

He hung up. Jonathan watched him warily; he had only ever met Andrew’s aunt once, and she had seemed like a nice enough woman, but always tired. She worked hard to provide for two teenage boys she had never expected to have. “How is she?”

“She had to go,” Andrew said airily, placing the phone back in its cradle. “She just got off a long shift, so she was tired and wanted to take a nap. She’s got early-morning shifts all this week, and I guess they have her working Sundays now. But she was happy to hear from me, she said.”

“What was she saying about Tucker?” Jonathan asked.

Andrew shrugged, hopping up off the couch. “Just asking if I’d heard from him.” He bit his lip. “Apparently she hasn’t heard anything since he left Sunnydale after graduation. I wrote him a few times at the address he left, but he never wrote me back. I guess that’s why she wasn’t really worried when I disappeared too.”

Jonathan scowled. Andrew’s family didn’t deserve a kid like Tucker; no family did. Jonathan didn’t know what to say that would make it better, though. “You ready to go pick out a Christmas tree?”

“Yeah! I’m gonna go grab my jacket,” Andrew said, bouncing down the hallway to his room with renewed enthusiasm.

They arrived at the tree lot a little earlier than anticipated, but the others weren’t far behind. There was something of a chill in the air; the weather promised a cool week, with winds bringing a colder temperature from the north. Fred spent most of her time huddled near anyone big enough to block out the wind. “Shoulda brought a scarf,” she mumbled. “Whoda thought it would get so cold in Los Angeles?”

“It’s not that cold. It’s supposed to get up to 64 later,” Jonathan supplied helpfully.

“What is it right now?”

“Bank we passed earlier said 52,” Andrew said.

“Didn’t you tell me it snows in Texas sometimes?” Gunn asked her incredulously. “Shouldn’t you be used to this?”

“I also said I hated when it snowed and it was awful,” Fred countered. “At least in Pylea it was always warm. Never got below 75, even at night.”

Cordelia looked dreamily off into the distance. “I miss Pylea.”

The poor tree salesman who was attempting to help them scratched his head. “Is that somewhere in South America?”

The group exchanged glances. They hadn’t thought he was paying attention, but apparently he was. “Honduras,” Gunn said after an awkward pause.

“Oh.” The salesman seemed content to leave it at that and went back to tying up the tree they had picked for the hotel lobby. It was tall and full-bodied, perfect for the wide-open space. Andrew and Jonathan’s tree was much smaller, and a little sparser. Andrew had gone from tree to tree, gauging height, fullness, strength of limbs, and - for some reasons - thickness of needles. Jonathan honestly couldn’t tell one needle from another, but Andrew insisted there was a difference. He must have looked at every single tree on the lot twice before finally deciding on one. Jonathan had to admit, it looked like a good choice, and it was a fair price. They paid, and the attendant loaded both trees into Gunn’s pickup.

Back at Pearson Arms complex, Jonathan let Gunn back his truck into the assigned spot and parked his own car on the street instead for easier unloading of the tree. Gunn and Andrew carried it up together while Jonathan darted ahead with the tree stand and skirt. The moment he had almost reached the apartment, however, the door flew open and an envelope smacked him in the face. Before he could recover his wits and figure out what Dennis was doing, Gunn and Andrew were already pushing him inside so they could set the tree down.

“Just lean it up against the wall for now,” Jonathan instructed distractedly, taking in the state of the living room.

The decorations that weren’t on the floor looked decidedly windblown. The coffee table was overturned and cushions from the couch were strewn everywhere. Jonathan stared at the destruction. “Dennis, what…?”

The envelope now clutched in his hand rattled again. Jonathan looked at it for the first time, while the others looked at the mess surrounding them, bewildered. The envelope had been opened and contained a single, very official-looking piece of paper. “Pearson Arms” was stamped across the top in fancy letterhead.

“Were y’all robbed?” Gunn asked.

“I think Dennis did this,” Jonathan said faintly. Cordelia came to read the paper over his shoulder.

_ December 1, 2002 _

_ To Whom It May Concern: _

_ Effective by March 1, 2003, all tenants of Pearson Arms Apartments are to vacate the premises, which are scheduled to be demolished as of May 15, 2003. Tenants have until said date to find alternate accommodations, at which point the building must be cleared out in order for the demolition to take place. _

_ If you have any questions or concerns regarding this notice, please contact - _

Jonathan didn’t need to read anymore. They had to leave the apartment? It was going to be demolished? Where did that leave Dennis?

Cordelia’s face twisted with outrage. “They’re going to tear down this building,” she cried, the paper crunching in her hand. “They can’t do that.”

“What?” Fred wrested the notice from Cordelia’s hand and smoothed it out for her, Gunn, and Andrew to read.

“Big deal,” Gunn said after skimming it. “Y’all just come live at the hotel too. Or if you wanna find another apartment we can help you look.”

“But what about Dennis?” Andrew asked, his lower lip wobbling slightly. He pointed at the wrecked living room. “His soul is attached to this apartment. What happens to him if the apartment is destroyed?”

“Shit, I didn’t think of that,” Gunn said. “That’s fucked up. What can we do?”

Dennis didn’t answer. He seemed calmer now that they were home, but there was still a tension in the air that wasn’t all due to Cordelia’s fuming.

“I’ll call Wes, see if he knows what it would mean,” Fred said, stepping into the kitchen for a little bit of quiet.

A slight wind rustled the needles of the fir tree, like a shiver racing down the trunk. “We’ll figure something out,” Jonathan promised fiercely. “There’s gotta be something we can do.”

“Maybe we can contact this guy,” Andrew said, pointing to the questions-and-comments person listed at the bottom of the notice. “Tell him it’s a bad idea to tear this place down.”

“Doesn’t the building belong to Dennis’ family anyway?” Gunn asked. “I mean, it’s his name on the front doors.”

Cordelia shook her head. “When Maude died and Dennis ‘disappeared,’ there were no next of kin - no cousins or siblings or anything - so the city took over the deed and sold it in an auction. This… Randall Realty - wow and you thought the name ‘Angel Investigations’ was bad? Anyway, they’re the ones who own the building now.”

Jonathan looked sharply at Cordelia. He had never heard the whole story of Dennis’ murder. Who was Maude Pearson? What did Cordelia mean when she said Dennis ‘disappeared’?

Fred returned a few moments later, before Jonathan could follow through on his train of thought and start asking questions. “The others are comin’ over. Wes is bringin’ a bunch of books with him. He says unfortunately most of the lore deals with how to get  _ rid _ of ghosts rather than keeping them around - sorry, Dennis.”

Dennis didn’t respond. His presence was shrinking, the same way it had when he thought Cordelia was never coming home again. Jonathan wanted to say something to him, but he didn’t know what.

“Might as well get the tree up while we wait,” Gunn said.

The festive atmosphere had deserted them; they raised the tree in its stand, but there was a decided lack of enthusiasm on everyone’s part. Whoever was in charge of this nightmare had chosen the worst possible time for this announcement. They had a few months to figure things out, but why post the notices right before Christmas, and in the middle of Hanukkah? A hundred other households were right now also having to put their holiday plans on hold to worry about this sudden development.

“Who’s Maude?” Jonathan asked, so suddenly it surprised himself. He hadn’t been meaning to ask, but he was curious.

Cordelia was reading over the notice for the dozenth time, but she looked up at his question. “Maude Pearson was Dennis’ mother. She was batshit insane and killed him to stop him from marrying some girl she didn’t think was good enough for her precious son. When I first moved in, she was also haunting the place and tried to get me to kill myself because she was playing out some sick version of events where I was Dennis’  fiancée.”

“She killed him?” Andrew whispered. “Just to stop him from marrying someone she didn’t like?”

Cordelia nodded, pointing to a little alcove in the living room. “She bricked him into that wall and he suffocated to death. His ghost was trapped in there by her will and she dominated the apartment, scaring tenants and even talking three of them into committing suicide before I came along. I busted open the wall, freeing Dennis and revealing his skeleton.”

Jonathan swallowed. “What? But -?” Jonathan tried to pull in his reeling thoughts. “I mean, what happened to Maude’s ghost?”

Here, Cordelia hesitated. “I was kind of out of it, so I’m not entirely sure,” she admitted. “There was a lot going on. I think - I think something possessed me for a moment when I smashed open the wall. Angel kept yelling at me to ‘strike at her center,’ and something in me knew that was where to hit. Dennis came out of the wall and sort of rushed at Maude and then she was gone and Dennis was still here.”

That wasn’t helpful to their current situation, but it certainly gave Jonathan something to think over. He remembered the conversation they’d had - or almost had, to be more precise - over the summer. How Jonathan had tried to ask if Dennis could ever forgive his murderer, and Dennis’ sound refusal to even hear the question. His own mother - Jonathan couldn’t imagine.

The front door opened, and in came Lorne, Wesley, and Angel, each carrying a stack of books. “Don’t worry, Phantom Dennis,” Angel was already saying as he entered. “We’re going to figure a way to get you out of this apartment and keep you safe.”

“I don’t think he’s here right now,” Jonathan said, taking some of Lorne’s books off his pile and helping set them down. “He’s sort of faded out for a bit to digest the news.”

Wesley set down his books and grabbed a pen and small notebook out of his jacket pocket. “That could be helpful. How do you mean, he fades? And does he have any control over it? Does his presence leave the apartment in some way?”

Jonathan shook his head. “I - I don’t really know. I don’t think so. It’s more like curling up in a ball in the corner of a closet where no one can see you. Except, metaphysically.”

Wesley scratched his cheek with the capped end of his pen. “I see. Well, it’s something to keep in mind at any rate. I was thinking, if nothing else, we can modify an exorcism spell.”

“That sounds really risky,” Jonathan said slowly. “We don’t want to accidentally exorcise Dennis.”

“It will be a last resort,” Angel promised. “Fred said we have three months to get this figured out. The sooner the better, but there’s plenty of time.”

Jonathan picked up what looked like a promising book and began to flip through its contents. The others righted the couch and settled down with various other books, research mode fully activated. Except Andrew. He couldn’t settle. He drifted around the living room, pushing objects back into place and picking up the fallen snowflakes. The ones that were still in good shape - which was most of them - he hung back on the walls, while the others went into the recycle bin. The others left him to his busy-making. He was stressed, and this was how he dealt with his stress. Plus, it lent the room a semblance of normalcy that had been taken away by the news. Christmas was coming and everything was going to turn out okay.

\---

Dennis returned after a couple hours and picked up another book to start leafing through. He’d once explained to Jonathan that reading was slow for him, and coupled with the fact that he didn’t know what he was looking for made for an even more tedious endeavour. After several minutes of struggling he gave up and took on more of a gopher role. He passed around books, fetched items, made food, and kept everyone supplied with water, tea, coffee, or juice. He made sure everyone knew how grateful he was for their help.

The first day of research yielded a few promising spells, but none that anyone felt were a surefire resolution. The ‘maybe’ pile grew, but the discarded pile grew even faster. Apparently, the majority of the world wasn’t keen on keeping ghosts around. One thing became increasingly evident, however: if the building was destroyed with Dennis still attached to it, his soul would be destroyed along with it.

The others left in the late evening with promises to keep up the search at work tomorrow. Jonathan barely noticed their departure; he was scouring a densely-written text from the 17th century, and it was proving difficult to understand. He wasn’t entirely sure it was written in English, but rather some English-demon amalgamation. He pinched his nose and closed his eyes.

Something hard gently tapped his forehead. Jonathan opened his eyes, squinting up at the pen that hovered just above his head.

R-E-S-T, Dennis told him, tapping out the letters on the coffee table. T-M-R-W.

It was a testament to how drained Jonathan’s mind felt that it took him a moment to realise ‘tmrw’ meant ‘tomorrow.’ “I guess,” Jonathan agreed reluctantly. His stomach growled and he remembered that he had set aside half his stew and never finished it. He looked around helplessly for where he had left it.

The bowl floated up from the floor on the other side of the coffee table. How it had gotten there - and more miraculously, how it hadn’t gotten knocked over by anyone - Jonathan hadn’t the slightest idea, but he was grateful to pick it up and wolf down the rest, cold though it was. “Thanks,” he mumbled through a mouthful of potato.

Andrew had finally settled down shortly after dinner, and was now re-reading through the ‘maybe’ pile. Most of the passages they had marked had more to do with how ghosts were attached to this world and dimension. Wesley felt that knowing more about what kept Dennis in the apartment would help them figure out how to move him to the hotel. Jonathan knew he was probably right, but it seemed like such a roundabout way to finding a solution. Jonathan wanted a fast, direct spell to tell him what to do.

He carried his empty bowl to the kitchen and washed it, setting it onto the rack to dry. He glanced at the clock on the microwave; when had it gotten so late?

“According to this,” Andrew said, padding into the kitchen, a book open in one hand and a steaming mug of tea in the other, “Dennis’ soul has latched into the very walls of the apartment. Based on what Cordelia said, um, specifically the alcove where he… you know.”

“Yeah,” Jonathan agreed. That was the conclusion the majority of texts seemed to be pointing to. Without the walls - without the apartment - Dennis’ soul would have nothing to hold onto.

“What if we just took the wall?”

Jonathan blinked, unsure if his tired brain was playing tricks on him. “Took the wall?” he repeated.

“Yeah,” Andrew said, putting down his mug. “I mean, the whole place is going to be demolished, right? They wouldn’t care if one wall went missing. And it’s an interior wall so it wouldn’t be like we’re cutting into the Rubios’ living room next door.”

Jonathan opened his mouth, then shut it again. For all he knew, it could work. They would just have to figure out a way to remove a wall without destroying it, take the wall out of the apartment and downstairs without anyone noticing, and then transport it to the hotel and… do what with it? And that was assuming Dennis’ soul was guaranteed to remain with that particular wall. “If all else fails, we just steal the wall,” Jonathan said. “That’s...either genius or crazy.”

“Or crazy-genius,” Andrew said, nodding wisely. “What do you think, Dennis?”

There was a small pause, then Dennis said, P-L-A-N F.

“What are plans A through E?” Jonathan asked, amused.

N-O C-L-U-E.

“We’ll work it out,” Jonathan promised. He’d been saying that all day, but it still felt just as true now as it had eight hours ago. They would figure out a viable plan. They had to. Jonathan went back into the living room to continue rifling through the 17th century text.

When Jonathan finally gave up shortly after midnight, his eyes were sore and his head pounded faintly. Andrew was still going, propelled onwards by a constant stream of tea and a heartfelt vow that they would have Dennis set up in the hotel by Christmas. “I’m going to go to bed,” Jonathan announced wearily. “I can barely see straight.”

Andrew barely acknowledged his departure. Dennis, on the other hand, followed him into his bedroom and hovered nearby as Jonathan changed into his pyjamas. He didn’t offer sexual release tonight, and Jonathan wasn’t sure he’d be able to follow through if Dennis had. His body was just as tired as his mind.

“Are you okay?” Jonathan asked.

S-C-A-R-E-D, Dennis admitted.

Jonathan nodded. This wasn’t a matter of life or death, since Dennis was already dead, but it would mean the difference between Dennis getting to stay on earth with his friends or having to move on to the beyond. Or, if they messed up, his soul would be destroyed entirely. Nonexistence. “Yeah,” Jonathan said softly. “We’re going to do our best.” He hesitated. He wasn’t sure how to broach what he had been pondering for the last hour or so. “If we… I mean, we’re going to explore every single possible solution, but if we can’t come up with the right one, then… at the very least…. we can help you, you know, move on. It won’t be so bad, maybe.”

A heavy pause sank into the air. At last, when Dennis responded, it was with the last thing Jonathan would have expected him to say. P-L-S D-O-N-T S-E-N-D T-O H-E-L-L.

Jonathan reeled back slightly, caught off guard. “Of course not,” he stammered. “Why - why would you even think that? We’re not going to send you to hell. I think when you move on you go where you’re supposed to. You’re not going to hell,” he avowed fiercely.

H-O-N-O-R T-H-Y M-O-T-H-E-R.

Did Dennis know Cordelia had told Jonathan about what happened to his mother? It didn’t matter. “You did the right thing. She was trying to hurt Cordelia, remember?” Jonathan said.

I S-E-N-T H-E-R T-O H-E-L-L.

“Like, on purpose?” Jonathan asked, trying to understand the full story.

N-O. M-A-D-E M-O-V-E O-N.

It was so maddening talking to Dennis like this. He obviously had some complex reasonings going on in his ethereal head, but trying to explain them in Morse Code was slow and tedious, and Jonathan felt like he was only getting half the story. “You don’t control where a person ends up when they move on. Their actions do. And your mother broke an even more important commandment: Thou shalt not kill. You did a good thing.”

Silence dominated between them. Jonathan hoped Dennis was giving his words their due consideration, but it was impossible to tell. Jonathan released a slow breath.

“Do you think I’m going to hell?”

N-O. The pen hit the nightstand with enough force that Jonathan flinched. U R-E-D-E-E-M. I C-A-N-T.

“Are you kidding me?” Jonathan demanded, incredulous. “Even if you had anything you needed to redeem yourself for, you have done so much for us that you can’t possibly believe you haven’t redeemed yourself a hundred times over. You keep us safe and fed and you help out with cleaning and - you know, other stuff. You’re always there for us when we need you, and you did the same for Cordy too when she lived here. You’re our Alfred. We’d be totally lost without you.”

I-S E-N-O-U-G-H? Dennis asked.

“It’s more than enough,” Jonathan assured him. “You are the most selfless person I have ever met. If you somehow end up in hell, I will personally tear down every wall between our dimension and that one to get you back.”

T-H-A-N-K Y-O-U, Dennis said.

Jonathan yawned, exhaustion getting the better of him. “Wish I could do something to make you feel better,” he admitted.

H-O-L-D P-I-L-L-O-W, Dennis instructed.

Jonathan sat down on the bed and picked up one of his pillows, holding it in his lap. The pillow grew colder, and Jonathan realised Dennis was pouring himself into the pillow’s fabric. He squeezed it as tight as he dared, as if worried he might hurt Dennis if he held on too hard. He wondered if Dennis could feel how his heart pounded in his chest. “I will keep you safe,” he whispered.


	24. Chapter 24

Jonathan’s fingers skimmed the text for what felt like the fifteenth time in a row. His heart hammered in his chest. No caveats, loopholes, or forewarnings. After a week of scouring every book he could get his hands on, Jonathan was looking at the spell that would save Dennis.

“Dude,” Jonathan said, swatting at Andrew, who was sitting next to him. After the first day of feverish searching, the rest of the team had moved on to other cases, leaving Jonathan and Andrew as primary researchers for Dennis’ predicament. Cordelia and Wesley jumped in as necessary - Cordelia as a consultant of sorts, and Wesley passing them books he stumbled across that might be useful to them.

Andrew took the book from him. “A spell for binding a spirit?” he read out loud. “Binding it to what?”

“All the texts point to ghosts being attached to something that is important to their deaths or had a lot of meaning to their lives, right?” Jonathan explained. “We get something that was important to Dennis - like, I don’t know, something that belonged to him or a piece of the wall he died in like you suggested before - and we bind his soul to that specific thing, transfer him to the hotel, and then re-bind his soul to the lobby.”

Cordelia, who had been sitting at her desk working on a file, overheard. “How come this spell is so ghost-friendly?” she asked suspiciously. “Everything else we’ve looked at has been about exorcism and banishment.”

“Well, it looks like the spell was originally designed to hold down a ghost that had a wide range and keeps slipping out of the exorcism spell,” Jonathan admitted. “But if we just do the first part - the binding - then we don’t necessarily have to do the second part.”

Andrew practically bounced up and down on his seat. “Can I be the one to tell Dennis?” he demanded.

Jonathan’s whole body thrummed with excitement. Seven straight days of poring over every text that even remotely mentioned ghosts or poltergeists, and at last they had the solution in hand. Something in Jonathan’s chest loosened. Dennis was going to come to the hotel and really be part of the team. Through various stilted conversations, Jonathan had learned that inclusion was something Dennis missed desperately.

“Sure,” Jonathan said to Andrew. “You can tell him and also we need to figure out if anything he owned when he was alive is still in the apartment.”

“There isn’t,” Cordelia said, joining them and peering down at the book in Andrew’s hands. “All the original furniture from when Maude and Dennis lived there has been replaced piece by piece over the years, and any personal stuff was removed when the police discovered Maude’s body.”

Jonathan bit the inside of his cheek, thinking. “The spell will probably work better with something Dennis already is inclined to have an attachment to, but we can figure something out.” There was a clatter at the front door, and Fred, Gunn, and Wesley entered, bringing lunch with them. “Guys! We’ve found the spell that’s going to save Dennis!”

Instead of breaking into cheers like Jonathan was expecting, Wesley and Fred exchanged a look while Gunn carefully avoided Jonathan’s eye. Cordelia squinted suspiciously at them. “What?” she asked, but her tone was flat - more like a demand than a question.

“Nothing,” Fred hurried to assure her. “It’s nothing bad. We definitely want to help Dennis any way we can.”

“We were just wondering if moving Dennis from one location to another is really the  _ best _ way to help him,” Wesley added.

“As opposed to what?” Cordelia folded her arms over her chest. “Letting his soul get destroyed when Pearson Arms goes up in smoke?”

“No, of course not,” Fred protested. “We don’t want anythin’ bad to happen to Dennis. We were just talkin’ about how this might be… you know, an opportunity. A sign from the universe that maybe it’s time for Dennis to move on. He’s been hangin’ around for over fifty years - and okay most of that was trapped inside a wall, but - well, what if this building gets destroyed somehow? Or we have to move him again?”

“It’s not really fair to him that he’s dependent on us for his safety,” Wesley added. “He has no agency in this world, but if he were to move on…”

Jonathan was already shaking his head. “He doesn’t want to. We’ve talked about it and he’s scared.”

“Well, that’s -” Fred started to say, but Jonathan interrupted her.

“He wants to stay, so I’m going to do whatever I can to make sure he stays.” Something twisted inside Jonathan; he’d thought everyone would be happy at this good news, but this resistance was unanticipated. “If you don’t want to help, then -”

“We’ll help,” Fred promised. “We just wanted to make sure we weren’t overlookin’ a better solution.”

“Pushing Dennis into a solution he doesn’t want isn’t better,” Jonathan said crossly.

“Why’s Dennis scared of heaven, though?” Andrew wondered.

Jonathan wasn’t sure if he should say. Dennis had confided his fears to Jonathan alone - maybe he didn’t want the others to know. “I don’t know,” he muttered lamely. “But Dennis told me he wants to stay on Earth no matter what. So I’m going to do my best to make sure he gets what he wants.”

“I’m with Jonathan,” Cordelia said. “Dennis has never asked very much from any of us before and he’s helped every single one of us in the past, so we should do whatever we can to help him. When it’s time for him to move on, we’ll deal with it then, but right now isn’t it.”

“I agree,” Andrew said. “He’s our friend, and friends are supposed to help each other out.”

Everyone looked at Gunn, who thus far hadn’t said anything, but had been busily putting out food as if hoping they would forget him. He sighed when he realised all eyes were on him. “Dennis is a good dude, but this place is pretty dangerous. If we move him here and this place ends up getting blown up - which, you know, ain’t exactly outside the realm of possibility; I remember visiting y’all’s hospital rooms the last time your offices got destroyed - then it’s on us. We’re the ones who get him killed. Again.”

“It doesn’t have to be permanent,” Jonathan said. “Andrew and I can find a new apartment and take him with us when we’re settled. We don’t  _ have _ to move in here just because everyone else has.”

The assumption since reading the eviction notice had been that Jonathan and Andrew would just move into the hotel - no need to pay rent when there was so much space available at the hotel. It never occurred to anyone that they might not want to move in - that they could just set up the same living situation, complete with Dennis, in a new apartment building. If that was how it had to be, then Jonathan felt it was no skin off his nose, though he had been thoroughly amused by the idea of Dennis playing host to Angel Investigation clients. An invisible ghost serving tea and holding out chairs; if the clients thought they’d come to the wrong place for their supernatural problems, they would soon be set straight.

Fred shrugged, looking troubled. “I’ll support whatever y’all think is best, but I just wanted to make sure every possibility had been explored.”

“If you decide to go through with the spell, I will help in whatever way I can,” Wesley added.

“When,” Jonathan corrected him. “Not ‘if.’ We’re going to do it and we’ll probably need everyone’s help. I want to make sure we do it right.”

“Talk to Dennis,” Cordelia advised, taking the sandwich Gunn handed her. “See if he has any ideas about what we can bind his soul to for the transportation. Wait, actually I’m going to come with you.”

Jonathan and Andrew grabbed their own food, waited for Cordelia to throw hers into the mini fridge by her desk, and then headed out the door.

\---

Dennis was beside himself with delight when Andrew told him what they had discovered. He swirled happily around them, tousling Cordelia’s hair and tweaking Andrew’s nose. Andrew giggled; Jonathan and Cordelia couldn’t help but grin.

W-H-E-N? he asked, the letters sloppy and rushed.

“As soon as we get all the ingredients together, including whatever we’re binding you to,” Jonathan said. “I was hoping you might have some ideas about that. The ideal object will have some significance to you, preferably around about the time of your death. Building off of Plan F, we could use a brick out of -”

A cold blast of air stopped Jonathan’s words in his tracks. N-O W-A-L-L, Dennis insisted.

“Then what?” Cordelia asked. “None of this furniture is yours, you don’t have any old possessions lying around - right?”

J-U-S-T W-H-A-T U F-O-U-N-D.

“A skeleton,” Andrew guessed.

“A skeleton, some rope, and a disaster of 1940s fashion choices,” Cordelia said.

“What happened to the - er - remains?” Jonathan asked. It felt weird to talk about Dennis body right in front of him. Disrespectful, somehow.

“After we notified the police and they came for the body, they told us it would be standard procedure to cremate an unclaimed body, but after talking to this stubborn idiot for hours -” Cordelia glared at the empty air around her - “we come to find out he’d rather be buried properly, so Angel paid for his funeral services.”

C I-N-S-I-S-T-E-D, Dennis added.

Jonathan’s heart had sunk at the prospect that Dennis had been cremated, but now it rose again. “So the skeleton is still intact?”

“Yeah,” Cordelia said. She gave him a peculiar look. “Are you about to suggest something really icky?”

“We exhume Dennis’ body and bind his soul to one of his own bones?” Jonathan said.

Cordelia sighed. “Really icky,” she repeated.

“It’s not the weirdest thing we’ve ever done,” Andrew said. “What do you think, Dennis? It’s your body, your choice.”

“That’s not what the creators of that slogan had in mind,” Cordelia said dryly.

D-O W-H-A-T-E-V-E-R N-E-C-E-S-S-A-R-Y.

“Alright,” Jonathan said. He wanted to get moving, get started. They would have to wait a little while to get access to Dennis’ body, but in the meantime he could start gathering the other things necessary for the spell. “Okay. We’ve got a plan.” He grinned. “We’ve got a plan!”

\---

_ Dennis waits. His fate is out of his own metaphysical hands, and it makes him rather impatient. As a ghost, he has gotten used to what limited control he has, and now that is being threatened. Dennis helps out as much as he can, but mostly all he can do is sit back and trust Jonathan and the others. It’s easier to do when he sees the way they rally to his aid. _

_ Two days after they decide to exhume Dennis’ body, Jonathan and Andrew come home from work looking pleased with themselves, and full of a tremulous energy. “Tomorrow night,” Andrew tells him. “We’re going to go dig up your body and do the binding spell. Are you ready to become a real life Ipslore the Red?” _

_ Dennis is torn. On the one hand, it will be exciting to finally be free of the place that has held him prisoner for the last 55 years; on the other hand, it will take him time to adjust to being somewhere that isn’t Here. When he had first been released from the Wall, it had taken him a couple weeks to fight off the urge to retreat back into it like a sanctuary instead of the cage it really was. The hotel, he assumed, would be an even bigger adjustment. _

_ Is he ready for the change? He nods his pen eagerly. _

_ That night, Jonathan shifts restlessly in bed. He is full of an energy that spills out around him, making him almost glow. Dennis longs to touch that energy, to wrap it around himself and get lost in it. He smoothes the blankets covering Jonathan’s chest instead, letting Jonathan know that he is here. _

_ “Hey,” Jonathan whispers. “Are you worried?” _

_ Dennis picks up a pen and wiggles it ambivalently. So-so. T-R-U-S-T, he says. _

_ Jonathan looks a little embarrassed and a lot proud. Dennis knows Jonathan takes Dennis’ trust very seriously. “I’ve been thinking,” he says. “I know you said it’s okay if we take one of your bones for the spell, but I’m not sure I can do it. It goes against everything I was taught as a kid in shul. They taught us that if a person is not buried as they were born, then the soul is stuck in a state of turmoil and can’t rest. I guess it’s a little late for that, but I don’t want to desecrate your body. Cordelia said your clothes were more or less intact on your skeleton, so we’ll bind you to your shirt instead.” _

_ O-K, Dennis agrees. S-H-A-M-E. H-O-P-I-N-G 2 G-I-V-E U B-O-N-E. _

_ Jonathan doesn’t catch onto the innuendo at first. “Well, I’m sure the shirt will work just as well as a bone,” he insists. “But if you’re really worried maybe we can - oh.” He realises that Dennis is laughing at him, a quiet shiver of the bedside lamp. “Real mature, you jerk.” He is blushing bright red and looks strangely pleased. _

_ Dennis draws his presence down the length of Jonathan’s chest, then flickers back up to his nipples. Jonathan pulls in a shuddering breath, already caught up in the touches. Dennis loves the way his expression changes when Dennis touches him - how he relaxes and tenses at the same time, his eyes searching the air as if trying to see Dennis. His hands clutch the blankets engulfing his small body. Sometimes he helps Dennis out, touching himself or pointing out a particularly sensitive spot, but for the most part he is content to let Dennis do whatever he pleases. _

_ Dennis can’t get enough of Jonathan’s body in the throes of ecstasy. He exudes an energy that is so sharp Dennis can almost taste it - he is delicious. Dennis wants more - wants to touch and feel and kiss - but even so he is grateful for what he is allowed. He is happy for whatever Jonathan gives to him. _

_ Jonathan’s back arches, pressing his chest into Dennis’ cold touch. Dennis doesn’t move down to Jonathan’s cock just yet. He is savouring this. A whisper here, a suggestion there… all communicated through pressure and manipulation. Dennis plays Jonathan’s body like a fine-tuned instrument. _

_ It was never like this with Cordelia. She was always in so much pain and trying to hide the fact that she needed comfort; when she would accept his help, rarely did that comfort extend to sexual favours, but when it did it was just a means to an end. Things with Jonathan started out the same way - helping him to relax - but quickly evolved into something more. It was that magnetic draw Dennis has felt since the beginning. He wants more of this connection between them - more of the fiery passion in Jonathan. More of Jonathan himself. _

_ Dennis undresses Jonathan slowly, peeling off his shirt first, then his boxers, laying him bare beneath the blankets. He’s half-hard by now and Dennis speeds up slightly. Using the sheet as a barrier between cold contact and soft skin, Dennis strokes Jonathan’s growing erection and tickles the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. Jonathan’s legs part automatically, giving Dennis better access that isn’t really necessary. Ghosts aren’t hindered by such nuisances as lack of space. _

_ Still, there is only so much Dennis can do. He has a few tricks up his sleeve, but his repertoire is limited. Jonathan never seems to mind - he is happy with whatever Dennis is able to give. He never asks for more. _

_ Dennis runs his invisible not-hands over Jonathan’s legs and down to his feet, then back up - he explores every inch of available to him. By now he thinks he knows every scar, every blemish, every dimple. He teases the head of Jonathan’s cock, drawing forth a tiny whimper. Jonathan clamps his hand over his mouth, stifling any more sounds. He is worried Andrew might overhear and barge in. Dennis wonders what he would sound like if he just let go. _

_ “Dennis…” The word is muffled by Jonathan’s flesh, but Dennis senses it more than hears it. He almost wishes for real hands and real ears to touch and listen and tempt, but if he did - if he were alive and  _ Dennis _ would Jonathan still accept this? He has made it quite clear that he prefers women instead of men, in spite of their time together. If Dennis had a physical body - undeniably male - it would mean no more of...this. _

_ Dennis strokes Jonathan faster; he’s almost there. Dennis can feel the tension coiling inside him, ready to release. He pays rapt attention, waiting for that moment when Jonathan’s face will twist into an expression of pure pleasure. He knows Jonathan doesn’t know how beautiful he looks in that moment. Maybe one day he will. _

_ “Gonna…” Jonathan whispers. He hurriedly grabs a couple of tissues and shoves them under the sheet to catch the cum - he’s had to wash too many sheets recently, which could lead to a suspicious roommate. Dennis squeezes the base of Jonathan’s cock, holding off the orgasm for a moment until he is set, the stroking once, twice - and Jonathan is coming into the tissues, his face alight with ecstasy. He settles back into the pillows, and tosses the used tissues into the trashcan by the bed. His eyes are already heavy with sleep. _

_ “Thanks, Dennis,” Jonathan whispers. Gone is the restless energy from before. “Tomorrow you’re going to have a new home. You should get some rest.” _

_ S-L-E-E-P W-E-L-L, Dennis tells him. Jonathan is asleep before he finishes. _

\---

The next day, Jonathan couldn’t sit still for more than five minutes at a time. Even trying to eat breakfast, he got up halfway through to double check on some detail of the spell. Andrew talked loudly and at length about nothing in particular - Jonathan’s nervousness was taking a toll on his own ability to focus. The hours until sundown seemed endless, but at last 6:00 PM rolled around, and shortly afterwards the sun set below the horizon. Jonathan began pulling together ingredients back at the apartment. Dennis helped as much as he could; he liked feeling like his fate was at least partly in his own hands. He cut up herbs and mixed them together. L-I-K-E C-O-O-K-I-N-G, he declared. If he was worried or nervous, Jonathan could not tell; he acted the same as he always did. Jonathan admired his steadiness but was also a little perturbed by it - shouldn’t Dennis be the one bouncing nervously from room to room?

Cordelia and Lorne came by the apartment after 9:00 to help with the final preparations. Fred, Angel, Wesley, and Gunn would come later, after exhuming the grave. They planned to start digging around 11:00, hoping that by then the city would be asleep enough they could work in peace. Jonathan couldn’t imagine how long it would take for three men and a deceptively strong woman to dig up a grave, but he anticipated they would be ready to perform the spell by 1:00 in the morning.

“Just the shirt,” Jonathan reminded Wesley for the dozenth time that day. “We’re not binding him to a bone because that’s a desecration of his body. Just the shirt.”

“Got it,” Wesley said crisply. “Just the shirt.”

“Everything looks good here,” Lorne told Jonathan when he hung up. “Andrew did an amazing job with this fennel.”

Andrew beamed under the praise. He was calmer now, with Lorne and Cordelia’s soothing presences to counterbalance Jonathan’s hectic one. He began compiling ingredients for muffins to have something to occupy his hands.

The minutes ticked by slowly. Vanilla and sugar and chocolate bathed the whole apartment in warm, sticky sweetness. Jonathan retreated into his bedroom to try to relax for a while. Dennis followed, but made no overtures; instead they sat together in silence until Jonathan picked up the copy of  _ Fellowship of the Ring _ Andrew had bought for him and began to read out loud.

At quarter past midnight, Jonathan stopped reading and joined the others, who were watching a romantic comedy on cable.

At 1:00, Jonathan became fidgety again.

At quarter to 2:00, he called Wesley’s mobile for the fifth time and got voicemail. Same for Angel, Fred, and Gunn.

At last, at half past 2:00, with Cordelia dozing on the couch and Andrew munching distractedly on a muffin, there was a soft tap on the front door. Jonathan vaulted over the coffee table, knocking his shin pretty badly in an effort to get to the door, but Dennis got there first and pulled it open. Dirty, sweaty, and altogether dishevelled, Angel and the others piled into the apartment.

“Did you get it?” Jonathan started to ask, but Wesley was already thrusting a piece of faded and musty cloth into his hands.

“I never ever want to undress a skeleton again,” Fred said with a shudder. “That was weird.”

Jonathan unfolded the fabric in his hands. It was a red, green, and white plaid cotton button-down. He had no idea if this was at all fashionable for the 1940s, but it was a piece of Dennis’ life, and that made Jonathan’s heart skip a beat. A delicate, crumbling piece of Dennis’ life, but the only one left.

Jonathan looked up at Dennis, who was nearby and vibrating with anticipation. “We’re ready,” he announced. “Are you good?”

Dennis’ pen bounced up and down in an enthusiastic  _ yes _ . Jonathan grinned.

The spell itself was simple enough and would not take long to perform. No more than ten minutes. Most of it was already set up; they just needed the shirt, and they were ready to go.

“Where do you want us, Jonathan?” Angel asked, looking at the arrangement of herbs and sigils.

“Um, doesn’t matter who sits where,” Jonathan said. “Just everybody in a big circle around the ingredients.” He pushed the coffee table out of the way to give them more room. Everyone shuffled into place, sitting cross-legged on the floor. “Stay close, Dennis.”

Dennis tousled his hair to let him know he was there.

“Should we join hands?” Andrew asked. The spell didn’t call for it, per se, but it was comforting. Jonathan took Andrew’s hand on one side and Gunn’s on the other; around the circle the rest of them linked hands. They all looked to Jonathan; Wesley may be the more senior mage of the team, but Jonathan had more of an emotional investment. As such, it was agreed that he would be the one performing the spell.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and began to recite.

The words flow through him, pulling power from the core of his being and from the others in the circle. Each energy a different colour in his magical eye: Fred-orange and Wesley-yellow and Gunn-red and Andrew-green and Lorne a pulsating purple and Angel deathly black and Cordelia a brightly contrasting pure gold and Jonathan himself dark blue. The colours pool together and mingle into a fat, iridescent knot.

From this spring of energy, Jonathan drew the combined colours into the prepared ingredients. Now he just had to direct the energy - and that was where the incantation came in. “ _Et ligabis in pannum ad animam_ ,” he recited. Bind the soul to this cloth. A wind picked up inside the confines of the apartment. Herbs and chalk trembled in their spots, but were held in place by the spell itself. “ _Quae animam in fila._ ”

The wind picked up faster, and Jonathan struggled to hold on. Andrew squeezed his hand, as if for reassurance.

“ _ Anima autem sunt in pace, _ ” Jonathan concluded, an addition he had created that was not in the original spell. Soul be at peace. He wanted this to be as soothing a transition as possible for Dennis.

“ _ Anima autem sunt in pace _ ,” the others repeated after him like a prayer. The combined energies pulsated once, twice, then exploded in a burst of blinding white light. Jonathan cried out and doubled over in pain, but he did not let go of the hands clutching his. The wind ceased abruptly and a pronounced silence settled over the room.

Jonathan opened his eyes slowly, breathing ragged as he realised he was staring at the floor. Bit by bit he sat up, meeting the worried eyes of his friends. No one had dared break the circle. They all stared at him, nervous and eager at the same time. Gingerly, he released Gunn’s hand and pushed his hair out of his eyes. Taking this as their cue, the others dropped hands and shifted positions, shaking out limbs that had become taut. Only Andrew and Jonathan’s hands remained joined.

“Did it work?” Angel asked.

“It felt like it worked,” Jonathan said. His voice sounded wrecked, like he’d been screaming for hours on end. He looked to Lorne for confirmation.

Lorne picked up the shirt and probed it with his own special demon magic. After a moment, he frowned, and Jonathan’s heart kicked in his chest. That didn’t look good.

Lorne hummed quietly under his breath, a short little nonsense tune, still frowning. He turned the cloth over and over in his hands. When he looked up, there was disappointment in his eyes. “He’s not here, bubbe.”

Jonathan dropped Andrew’s hand. “I’m sorry, Dennis,” he said out loud. “I’ll figure something else out.”

He waited a few seconds but there was no ghostly response.

Jonathan looked around. Why wasn’t Dennis responding? Was he so mad he was beyond expressing it? “Dennis?”

Still nothing.

Jonathan looked at Lorne, a question on the tip of his tongue, but Lorne was already ahead of him, using the same probing he’d done on the shirt but now on the room in general. He shook his head.

Jonathan’s heart leapt into his throat. “Where is he?”

The others stood cautiously and looked around them as if they might be able to see Dennis hiding under the sofa. “Is he doing that thing where he fades away?” Angel asked Jonathan.

“I don’t… I have no idea,” Jonathan said, starting to feel frantic. Andrew dashed into the master bedroom and then into Jonathan’s bedroom, calling “Dennis? Dennis?” over and over again. Jonathan staggered to his feet, dizzy and scared. “If he did, would Lorne still be able to sense him?”

“He has to be here,” Cordelia said loudly, fire in her eyes. “You can’t just misplace a ghost!”

“He’s not in the bedrooms or bathroom or any of the closets,” Andrew announced. His lip trembled dangerously.

“Everybody stay calm,” Lorne said, though uneasiness shone in every line of his finely pressed suit. He stepped over the debris of the spell. “Let me search the apartment really quick. I should be able to sense him even if he’s - pardon the expression - just a ghost of his usual self.” He tried a strained chuckle but nobody else joined him.

“Jonathan,” Andrew whispered, trying to stay quiet but the room was so deathly silent that his voice carried to the others. “He can’t really be gone, can he?”

“No,” Jonathan hissed. “It’s impossible.” Wasn’t it? The spell wasn’t designed to exorcise - only to prepare the soul for eventual exorcism. But Jonathan had altered it…

Minutes ticked by in silence. Fred curled up in a small ball on the couch, with Gunn hovering protectively over her. Cordelia paced the room, refusing to talk to any of them until Lorne finished his search. Angel and Wesley conferred in low voices; Jonathan couldn’t hear what they said, but more than once Wesley glanced over at him and then quickly looked away. The ball of dread inside Jonathan’s stomach grew.

When Lorne finally returned, he looked grim. Jonathan knew what he was going to say before he opened his mouth. “I searched everywhere - high and low, every room. Kitchen, bedrooms, bathroom, closets, even a few loose boards in the master bedroom and inside the walls. Nada. He’s gone.”

Fred covered her face with her hands. Cordelia rounded on Jonathan and for a wild moment Jonathan was convinced she was going to slap or strangle him - and he would deserve it. “This is your fault,” she snarled. “You fucked up the spell - you did something to it and now he’s gone and you’re going to bring him back.” She grabbed Jonathan’s shoulders. “Bring him back!”

“Cordelia,” Angel cried. He and Andrew leaped forward, trying to pull her off of Jonathan, but she wrenched out of their grip and shook Jonathan, hard. Dazed, Jonathan could do nothing but let her.

“Bring him back!”

“No!” Jonathan’s mind seemed to have finally caught up with the proceedings and he wriggled himself out of Cordelia’s grip. “No, you’re wrong,” he yelled at Lorne. He stumbled out of the living room and into his bedroom, screaming “Dennis! Dennis!” as loud as he could. Strong hands clamped over his mouth from behind - Wesley had followed him and was trying to stop him from shouting the whole complex awake. He bit down on the fingers, but Wesley did not budge. They struggled, bumping into Jonathan’s bed.

Wesley had the advantage of height and weight and experience - he quickly overpowered Jonathan’s attempts to fight free. Jonathan struggled, but his voice had died and he could only whimper as Wesley gently shushed him. They had ended up on the floor; Jonathan could not remember how.

When Jonathan finally relaxed, Wesley let his hands drop. “Lorne is wrong,” Jonathan whispered, his eyes wet with unshed tears. “He has to be. Dennis can’t be gone. The spell…”

“The spell wasn’t without its risks,” Wesley said quietly. “We -”

Footsteps pounded down the hallway and Cordelia burst into the room, shaking one damning finger at Jonathan. “You killed my best friend,” she pronounced coldly. “His soul is on your head, Jonathan Levinson.”

“Cordelia, please,” Andrew begged. He and Angel tried to tug her out of the room; tears streamed down Andrew’s face. “Please leave him alone.”

Cordelia turned and strode out of the room. Angel followed, but Andrew stayed where he was, sobbing uncontrollably. Wesley unfolded himself from the floor. “We’ll be going now,” he said, uncomfortable. He looked from Jonathan to Andrew, hesitant. “You did what you thought was best,” he said after a long pause. When neither of them responded, he took his leave without another word.

The front door opened and closed and the apartment was left in stillness.

Andrew came over to Jonathan and collapsed by his side, clinging to him with despair. Jonathan turned away from his embrace. Cordelia was right: this was all Jonathan’s fault. He had fucked up. He tried to save his friend and destroyed him instead. A coldness crept into his mind, chilling his emotions until he was too frozen to be sad or angry or hopeful. He stared vacantly at his closet door.

Beside him, Andrew continued to sob.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to yell at me in the comments. <3 <3 <3


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for extreme depression and references to past and future suicide attempts/suicidal thoughts

_ Get up. _

Jonathan didn’t move.

_ Get up now, you sad sack of shit. _

Jonathan buried his head deeper into the pillow.

_ Useless, pathetic, disgusting, can’t do anything right. Can’t even get out of the fucking bed. Why are you even still alive? _

A tear slid down his cheek.

_ You don’t deserve to be sad. You murdered one of your closest friends. Get up. _

Why?

_ Get up now. _

Why?

_ Fuck you. _

Why?

“Jonathan?” A tentative knock on his bedroom door before opening it anyway, and Andrew poked his head inside. “Do you want breakfast?”

He wasn’t hungry. Just the thought of eating made his stomach churn. When was the last time he had eaten something? Yesterday afternoon? Longer? Time was slipping by him.

“Jonathan? I made breakfast tacos.”

“Later,” Jonathan managed to croak loud enough for Andrew to hear.

“Okay,” Andrew said. He sounded so helpless, and Jonathan knew he should feel bad for worrying Andrew, but that was just one more thing on the long list of emotions Jonathan was incapable of processing right now. All he did these days was lie in bed and argue with himself. Some days he couldn’t even manage the arguing part; he agreed with everything the voice in his head told him, and the only thing standing between himself and a knife to his wrist was how much effort it would take to stand up, walk to the kitchen, and actually go through with it.

It had been a full week since the botched spell. Jonathan had woken up in the early afternoon the next day, disoriented and hopeful that it was all just a bad dream or that Dennis had just faded for a while but was back now. His hope died before he was even fully awake. Dennis was gone.

Angel called a few hours afterwards to see how they were holding up and to report that Cordelia was still grieving. “Maybe give her a couple days before coming back to work,” he suggested. “We didn’t get a chance to go back to the cemetery and refill Dennis’ grave. It’s probably too much wishful thinking to hope no one found it and reported it to the police. If they come around asking questions, let me know. We’re going to lay low here for a few days.”

Jonathan listened to his rambling with only half an ear. His mind was shutting down, drifting on a tide of self-loathing and anger. What did he care about Dennis’ grave? The police could fill it with cement for all he cared. It was evidence of his worst failure ever, and he wanted nothing to do with it.

The police never came. Jonathan went back to bed and stayed there. Andrew paced restlessly around the apartment, intermittently stopping right in front of Jonathan’s closed door, but never entering. At dinnertime he knocked but Jonathan couldn’t bring himself to answer. After a few minutes of silence, Andrew went away.

Jonathan knew Andrew was also grieving. He knew he should offer a shoulder to lean on. But he couldn’t. He didn’t even have the energy to support himself, let alone Andrew. But he didn’t have the energy to explain that, either. So he stayed in bed and watched the hours tick by. He ate sporadically, drank only enough water to keep himself from getting dizzy every time he stood up. And through it all came the continuous litany of abuse from his own mind.

_ You murdered him. _

_ You don’t deserve to eat. _

_ Everything you touch gets destroyed. _

And so on. Sometimes the voice wasn’t there, but that was even worse. The empty blankness stretched for hours. Jonathan tried to read but his eyes glazed over; he tried to eat but food tasted like sawdust; he watched television but would start crying silently in the middle of an episode.

“I miss him so much,” Andrew admitted when he saw the tears on Jonathan’s cheeks, and Jonathan had to retreat because Andrew’s grief on top of his own was suffocating.

Jonathan hadn’t left the apartment all week.

Andrew had, though. After the requested couple of days of distance for Cordelia, Andrew couldn’t stay away any longer. He tried to get Jonathan to come along, but Jonathan couldn’t move. So Andrew went back to work on his own. When he came home that night, he had fried chicken in one hand and a message from Cordelia. “She says she didn’t mean to blame you for ruining the spell,” Andrew relayed. “‘Hiding here isn’t going to get work done,’ she said.”

Jonathan picked the skin off a breast but didn’t eat it. He took a bite of the meat; it had no taste. He didn’t acknowledge Cordelia’s harsh pseudo-apology.

Now, a week into this Dennisless existence, Jonathan moved one leg, then the other. He rolled over onto his back. His body ached, his face was puffy from crying, and his voice hoarse from disuse. Another knock on his door made him shrink away.

“May I come in?”

It wasn’t Andrew this time, but Wesley. Without waiting for an answer, he came into the room and shut the door behind him. Jonathan had just enough presence of mind to struggle into a sitting position and feel a twinge of guilt that his room was such a mess. Cups and tissues littered the bedside table; plates of half-eaten food were tossed halfheartedly onto the floor; his sheets were a snotty, stained mess.

“Sure.”

If Wesley noticed the mess, he didn’t comment. His eyes didn’t linger, but zeroed directly in on Jonathan and held his gaze. “We’re all a bit worried about you,” he said. “We understand you’re mourning. Is there anything we can do to help?”

Jonathan shook his head listlessly. “Didn’t mean to worry you,” he croaked. He wanted to tell Wesley to forget about him, the way people always did, but he knew the words would come across as self-pitying.

Wesley surveyed him impassively. “Do let us know if we can do anything,” he said. “You have friends who want to help you.” There was a vague reproach in his voice that did nothing to make Jonathan feel better. Was he thinking of last summer when he had messed up and his friends all turned their backs on him? Jonathan felt a stab of anger. The situations weren’t even comparable - how dare Wesley think Jonathan somehow had it better than him? “As soon as you’re ready to come back to work, there’s always plenty to do.”

“Thanks,” Jonathan said.

“Andrew is scared for you, you know,” Wesley commented blithely.

Jonathan closed his eyes as if that would make the truth disappear. “I know.” Jonathan saw the worry every time he left his room, felt the dual pangs of pity and sympathy radiating off Andrew and soaking into his words. Suffocating.

Wesley said a few more things, but Jonathan lost track of the conversation. He nodded and shook his head where appropriate. Wesley wasn’t fooled. After a few minutes of nonresponses, he took his leave, reiterating the promise to help if Jonathan needed it. All he had to do was say the word.

Wesley left the room, but Jonathan did not hear the front door open. He slid out of bed and walked silently to the closed bedroom door. He heard voices: Wesley’s and Andrew’s. There was a shuffling, a drawer opening. More voices. Glass bottles clinking. Cabinets opening. Andrew started crying at one point, explaining something through his tears, but Jonathan could not make out the words. He only heard half of Wesley’s reply, “...better this time.” It sounded like it was meant to be reassuring, and maybe it was. Andrew hiccupped an agreement.

Footsteps shuffled past Jonathan’s door and into the bathroom. The medicine cabinet squeaked open and he could hear bottles of pills and crinkly plastic being moved around. It sounded like they were being dropped into something. Tiny whispers Jonathan could barely make out.

“Tylenol..?”

“- need it to - and - injury?”

“But he still could -”

“Could but it’s unlikely. Razor?”

“- need to shave.”

“We won’t be able - everything anyway.”

“Just - caution. I - think he’s -”

Think he’s what? Jonathan slid to the floor and covered his face with his hands.

They weren’t finished. Next they moved into the living room. Jonathan could hear them talking about sheets and belts and shoelaces; a picture was starting to form, but he needed confirmation.

Jonathan slunk back to his bed, but he didn’t have the wherewithal to pull himself up onto it. He sat against the side, staring at a plate of half-eaten pizza by his foot.

There was a hesitant tap on the door. Andrew opened it without waiting for a response and looked startled to see Jonathan on the floor. “Are you okay?” he asked. 

“Fine,” Jonathan mumbled.

“Do you want something to eat?”

Jonathan started to say no, but then changed his mind. He could force himself to eat something - and maybe it would make Andrew feel better. “Do we have any Cheerios?”

“Yeah!” Andrew looked relieved, almost ecstatic. “We’re out of milk, but do you want some sugar on them?”

Jonathan’s stomach churned slightly. “No, just plain. Only a couple handfuls.”

Andrew dashed out of the room. It wasn’t much, but it was progress. Jonathan watched him go, feeling a little guilty at the deception.

Andrew came back with a bowl half full of Cheerios and a small measuring cup of sugar “in case you change your mind.” Jonathan accepted both with a strained smile.

“I have to run some errands with Wesley, okay?” Andrew asked. “We’re almost out of bread and some other stuff. Are you going to be alright here? Do you need anything? We won’t be gone long - definitely less than an hour.” He hovered halfway between Jonathan and the door, as if not sure which way he should be going.

“I’ll be fine,” Jonathan said.

“Okay. If you need anything, call me on the cell phone,” Andrew said. Still, he hesitated.

“Go,” Jonathan said.

“Right, going.” He left, without shutting the bedroom door behind him. A moment later the front door opened and closed, and the apartment became completely silent.

Jonathan slid to his feet and tottered out to the bathroom. Data skidded into the room after him, glad to see him after such a long absence. He opened the medicine cabinet: it was cleared of anything stronger than ibuprofen. Under the sink, all of the cleaning supplies had been removed. He slammed the door shut and made his way to the kitchen. Here, he found evidence of the raid in the disappearance of knives and every drop of alcohol. Even Andrew’s cooking sherry had been taken.

Lastly, the living room. Jonathan knew what they had been after here: his spellbooks and mage supplies. He had over a dozen herbs, unctions, and pastes that could easily kill him, not to mention three different ritual daggers. Andrew knew about his previous suicide attempts: the belltower and the incident with the First. He must have told the others and now Wesley was here to make sure Jonathan didn’t try again. Why did they bother? Why did Andrew leave him if he was so scared Jonathan was going to kill himself?

Jonathan marched back into his bedroom, picked up the bowl of Cheerios, and carried it into the bathroom. He dumped the contents into the toilet and flushed them down. His already-negligible appetite had disappeared. The sugar he was tempted to throw, but he reigned in his temper.

He had  _ promised  _ Andrew he wouldn’t kill himself after the First. And this was how Andrew repaid that promise: sneaking around with Wesley, removing all the lethal stuff from the apartment without his knowledge. For a teetering moment he thought about dismantling the safety razor or tying his bedsheet to the ceiling fan - just to show Andrew.  _ This is what you expect of me? This is what you’ll get. _ He clamped down on that thought. No.

He could imagine what the others have been saying about him.

“Pathetic.”

“Here we have to go watching to make sure he doesn’t kill himself. He’s like a child.”

“Does he expect us to hold his hand?”

“He’s so useless he managed to kill someone who’s already dead.”

“Why can’t he be the one who disappeared instead?”

Their voices piled up in his head, the imagined words coming from any one of them. Wesley claimed they were worried about him, but that couldn’t be true. He’d never been anything but a burden to the people around him.

Data mewled an inquiry at him.

Jonathan went back to the living room, clutching the Cheerio bowl in his hands, and collapsed onto the couch.

He had no idea how long he stayed there, staring at nothing. Eventually he footsteps and loud voices approaching the apartment. He recognised Andrew, sounding frantic, and Wesley’s calmer tones. The doorknob rattled, then the key slid into place. Andrew burst into the apartment, dropping groceries, and dashed for Jonathan’s bedroom. “Jonathan?” he cried. “He’s not here!”

Jonathan winced, but said nothing. Andrew would figure it out in a moment when he came dashing back - and he did. “Oh thank god,” Andrew cried, launching a teary hug at Jonathan.

Jonathan pulled away. He felt too drained to deal with this right now.

“I’m sorry,” Andrew said, wiping his tears away. “We were at the grocery and I - and I -”

It had finally clicked for him, Jonathan surmised. Going through the apartment and tossing out stuff had been purely hypothetical, but eventually the reality of the implications caught up to Andrew and he couldn’t handle it - the thought that Jonathan might really off himself. Andrew must have rushed immediately home to make sure Jonathan was still alive.

A headache pounded behind Jonathan’s eyes. Without saying a word, he slipped out of Andrew’s grasp and went back to bed.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My wonderful, amazing, superb beta KiranInBlue wrote a tie-in piece for this chapter! It can be read at the first scene break or at the end of the chapter (it makes more sense at the scene break but either way). [Linked here.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6941752)
> 
> Also warnings for major depression

Time slithered by. Jonathan kept irregular hours - sometimes awake in the middle of the night and then sleeping all day. Sometimes he would sleep for sixteen hours straight. Once he stayed up for forty-eight hours in a haze of semi-conscious unreality. He walked all the way (five miles there, five miles back) to the cemetery where Dennis’ grave was, but he couldn’t bring himself to go inside. He stood at the front gate and stared lifelessly at all of the gravestones. He prayed for the first time in years, begging for forgiveness. Halfway through he realised his prayer was directed not at God, but at Dennis himself. He left shortly thereafter.

One morning, Jonathan found himself conscious once more. This wasn’t unusual: the gradual listlessness of the day would melt into a half-sleep until Jonathan opened his eyes and realised he was awake again. When was the last time he had gotten out of bed? Eaten? He had no idea. It could have been half an hour or it could have been three days.

He turned to his bedside table to look at the alarm clock, but it wasn’t there. After some searching, he found it shoved under the bed, but still plugged in. It read just after 3 in the morning.

Jonathan ran a hand over his face. He hadn’t shaved in over a week, and he had a wild scruff growing. It was the longest his facial hair had ever been.

He stumbled into the bathroom to piss. As he washed his hands afterwards, he caught a glimpse of someone he didn’t recognise in the mirror. This person had sunken eyes and pale skin, and his clothes hung off his unhealthy-looking frame. Who was this zombie who stared back at him?

It took monumental effort, but Jonathan shoved the shower curtain open and turned the water up as hot as he could stand it. He shucked his clothes (they reeked; when was the last time he’d changed?) and climbed under the sharp spray. Muscles that were sore from staying in bed all day relaxed as the bathroom filled with steam. The door - which he apparently hadn’t closed all the way - slid open and Data mewled an inquiry from the other side of the curtain.

Jonathan kept his mind intentionally blank as he reached for his shampoo and lathered up his hair. He didn’t think about the times Dennis would come in here to keep him company - or more. He didn’t think about their silly conversations about science fiction and superheroes, or the more serious conversations about work and life and death and redemption. He didn’t think about that time so many eons ago now when he’d been jerking off in the shower and came at the cold touch of the tiles against his arm.

He rinsed his hair; his head felt so much lighter now. He soaped up his whole body, from hairline to toes, scrubbing his back as well as he could. He washed his genitals with detached scrutiny. When he was clean all over, he finally stepped under the spray again and washed the suds away. He stayed in the shower for a few minutes even after the last bit of soap was gone, feeling the heat pound out his many aches. Heat was his enemy these days: it made his room too hot to sleep, made his hair stand up on end, made him think about how cold the apartment used to be back...before. He missed the cold. But this time, he revelled in its absence. The shower, at least, was always hot even when Dennis made everything else around him chilly.

Jonathan shut the water off at last and climbed out of the shower, wrapping his towel around his hips. Data rubbed against his legs, ignoring the water that now clung to his fur. Jonathan edged carefully over to the sink, just narrowly avoiding tripping over the cat. He wiped a clean patch in the mirror and studied himself again. His cheeks had more colour, and the bags under his eyes did not stand out so much. But there was still that scruff to deal with.

He grabbed his safety razor with only a small flash of echoing irritation about That Day when Andrew and Wesley had taken anything harmful out of the apartment. He lathered his face with shaving cream and then with careful, efficient strokes, he shaved off the beard.

When he finished, Jonathan Levinson recognised himself again for the first time in over a week.

He dried off as much as possible, towelling his hair until it no longer felt heavy with water. It was longer than he usually liked it to be, but there was nothing he could do about that right now. He wrapped the towel around his hips again, grabbed his dirty clothes, and headed back to his bedroom.

Underwear, sweatpants, an over-large tee-shirt. They weren’t exactly clothes for going outside the apartment, and they were too big these days, but that didn’t matter. They were clean. He slid them on, tying the drawstring tight to keep the sweatpants in place.

He should do something about the dishes littering his floor, but he didn’t have the energy for that just yet. Maybe later. Andrew would come in at random intervals to pick up his room a little, but only when Jonathan wasn’t in there or else was too lethargic to care. He scurried around the apartment, rarely leaving even for work and clearly intimidated by Jonathan’s overbearing depression and mood swings. He did his best to keep Jonathan alive and fed, and Jonathan at times was both grateful and frustrated by the attention. Grateful that someone in the world cared about him enough to want him alive - frustrated that Andrew didn’t realise everyone would be better off without Jonathan.

Jonathan slipped into the kitchen and pulled the fridge door open. It was well-stocked with carefully labelled tupperware containers. Some specifically said “For Jonathan” on them, and he realised with a start that they were all his favourite foods. He vaguely recalled Andrew saying that he cooked them, but those memories were part of one long string of half-acknowledged moments.

He grabbed what looked like a relatively fresh container of latkes and popped them into the microwave. When he turned around, Andrew was standing in the doorway looking like he was seeing a ghost.

When they made eye-contact, Andrew leaped into action. “You’re up! You’re hungry! What are you eating? I can make you something fresh. Do you want eggs? No, wait, if you have some time I can make cinnamon rolls from scratch. No, that will take too long.” He began pulling things out of cupboards at random: sugar, flour, Raisin Bran, peanut butter. There was no clear goal here, but Andrew was a flurry of activity.

“The latkes are fine,” Jonathan croaked. He winced; when was the last time he had said anything out loud? He cleared his throat and tried again. “I don’t want anything huge.”

Andrew looked vaguely horrified. “Those latkes are a week old. At least let me make you new ones. They won’t take long.” He abandoned the cupboards for pulling onions and eggs and potatoes out of the fridge and from under the sink.

“A week?” Jonathan repeated, staring at the label. It was dated in Andrew’s careful handwriting as 12/17. That surely only made it three days old at the most. Jonathan knew he had lost track of time, but not that badly - right?

“Yeah,” Andrew said, moving quickly but with practiced efficiency. “Didn’t you come out of your room because you know what day today is?”

A week after 12/17. That would make today…It clicked, and Jonathan realised what Andrew was expecting, seeing him out here. He could lie so easily. He could say that yes he knew exactly what today is and he had come out of his room to celebrate Christmas Eve with Andrew because he knew it would be important to him. But he didn’t have the energy for it. “No, I didn’t realise. I just wanted some food,” he said quietly.

Andrew slumped slightly, but then forced himself back into cheerfulness. “It’s Christmas Day! Merry Christmas, Jonathan! I know you don’t celebrate, but we can still do something a little special. Whatever you want.” Jonathan could hear the desperation in his voice, and it was suffocating.

“Do you want any help?” Jonathan asked.

Andrew shook his head a little too vigorously. “No, don’t worry at all. I’ve got this covered. You just take it easy. Um, do you want to watch something? I don’t think there’s anything on TV this early, but there’s always VHS.”

Jonathan wandered into the living room, leaving the old latkes in the microwave. He looked over their VHS and meager DVD collection with listless attention. His eyes fell on the Star Wars movies and he remembered Dennis’ unadulterated responses to each plot twist and revelation. Tears pricked his eyes, but he was all cried out. He had nothing left.

He picked up their DVD copy of  _ The Fellowship of the Ring _ and slid it into the player. When he was depressed in high school, reading Tolkien had never failed to at least help him escape his problems, even if it didn’t always make him feel better.

Jonathan turned up the volume slightly so that Andrew would be able to hear the movie from the kitchen, then pressed Play. Andrew continued to work on the latkes, making a veritable mountain of shredded potatoes.

A thought jolted Jonathan’s heart: if today was December 25th, that meant The Two Towers had been in theaters for a week. The release date had been on the 18th. He and Andrew had been talking about going to the midnight premiere for weeks before The Incident. Jonathan paused the movie and drifted back to the kitchen, where Andrew was starting to spoon mixture into hot oil. “The Two Towers came out,” he said.

Andrew concentrated on his work, not looking at Jonathan as he answered, “Yeah, on the 18th.”

“Did you go?” He wasn’t sure if he would be more upset if Andrew said yes or no. On the one hand, Andrew going without him to see the second installment of Jonathan’s favourite series ever would be like a stab in the back. On the other hand, if he didn’t go it would be because he didn’t trust Jonathan alone long enough to sit through a three-hour movie.

Andrew shook his head, still not looking at Jonathan. “I was going to wait until you felt better so we could go together.” He looked up at last and smiled hopefully. “Maybe today! Isn’t it Jewish tradition to go to the movies on Christmas?”

“Maybe,” Jonathan agreed, drifting back to the living room and unpausing. But he couldn’t focus. The little energy he had felt earlier drained from him, and he sank back into thoughtless lethargy. Not even Merry and Pippin’s firework antics made him smile.

Andrew joined him a little while later with a large plate of latkes and bowls of sour cream and applesauce for topping. Jonathan gamely ate a few, but his appetite was gone. He curled up at one end of the couch and watched lifelessly as the fellowship formed, Gandalf plunged to his seeming death, and the hobbits raced for their lives. He barely blinked at Boromir’s death scene.

By the time the end credits rolled, the sky was starting to lighten in the east as dawn promised to break. Andrew stood up, stretched, and went to the Christmas tree, which had been modestly decorated at some point. For the first time, Jonathan realised there were several wrapped presents underneath. Andrew pulled one out and brought it back to the couch. “Merry Christmas, Jonathan,” he said happily.

“I didn’t get you anything,” Jonathan mumbled. He was reluctant to take the present from Andrew. He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve anything Andrew did for him.

“I know. That’s okay,” Andrew said sincerely. “I, um, happened to see this and thought of you, and Christmas was soon so I went ahead and bought it for you.”

Jonathan took the package from him and carefully slit open the tape to reveal a Beast figurine still in its original packaging. It didn’t look like it was a particularly rare one, but Jonathan’s heart skipped a beat nonetheless. Beast was his favourite X-Men, and of course Andrew would remember that. Jonathan suddenly felt very, very tired.

“What do you think?” Andrew asked eagerly.

“It’s great,” Jonathan said. He leaned forward and set it down on the coffee table, staring at it.

Andrew’s smile flickered, but he was clearly determined to push through and make this a happy Christmas no matter what. “Should we look up showtimes for  _ The Two Towers _ ? If we go to the matinee showing there’ll be fewer people.”

Jonathan unfolded himself from the couch and stood up. “I don’t feel like going. Sorry. I’m going back to bed. Thanks for the latkes.” His tone was completely flat and held no inflection.

When he left the room, he didn’t take the figurine with him.

\---

Some days later - it was impossible to say how many - Jonathan woke up in a dark sweat. It was always so damn hot in the apartment these days. He couldn’t breathe, like an asthma attack that had no end. He shoved all of the blankets off his bed, but it did no good. He slid out of bed and turned the thermostat down as far as it would go, but he still felt overheated. He shucked off his pyjama bottoms, which were already hanging loosely off his hips, leaving him in just his shirt and boxers. He slipped through the silent apartment (his alarm clock read just after one in the morning) to the kitchen. Here, he pulled open the fridge and for a long, beautiful minute, at last he was cool enough.

He held the door open, basking in the chill, but he couldn’t stand like this forever. He closed the fridge and lowered himself to the floor in front of it. The tiles had absorbed the cold and now he soaked it into his skin, lying flat so that every bare inch of him was in contact. His mind drifted and gradually he fell asleep once more.

“Jonathan? Jonathan!”

Gentle hands shook and pulled at his shoulders. Jonathan tried to curl away from them and ended up smacking his head into the bottom of the fridge door.

“Are you okay? Please say something.”

Jonathan grunted, “Fine.”

Andrew let out a sigh of relief. “What are you doing on the floor?”

Jonathan didn’t want to explain. How could he? “I was too hot,” he said nonetheless. “It’s cooler down here.”

Andrew glanced up at the fridge. “It’s fifty-five degrees in here. That’s not hot at all. Do you have a fever?” He brought his wrist to Jonathan’s forehead.

“I don’t think so. I’m just used to sleeping with - in a colder room.”

“You haven’t mentioned this before,” Andrew said, still trying to figure out if Jonathan was feverish. “Have you been sleeping out here a lot? I would have seen you, though.”

Jonathan shrugged. Every day it seemed his mind and body came up with new ways to remind him of his failure. This was just the latest. He pulled away from Andrew’s hands and struggled to his feet. “I’m going to take a shower.” A cold, stinging shower, painful enough to take his breath away.

“Do you want breakfast when you get out?” Andrew asked hopefully.

Jonathan almost demurred, but his stomach protested loudly. He couldn’t remember the last time he ate (a fistful of oyster crackers that he could barely swallow down). “Sure. A couple eggs?”

Andrew popped up, looking energized by just these four words. “Over-easy? Sunnyside up? Fried? Poached? Hard-boiled? Soft-boiled? Scrambled? Omelette?”

“Surprise me,” Jonathan mumbled as he headed for the bathroom.

\---

“Get up, Jonathan.”

The voice in Jonathan’s head was back. It never left, actually, but it had been a while since the voice bothered to try yelling at him into any sort of action. These days it mostly just told him what a failure he was and he should stop burdening his friends by living.

Something hit his bed with some force. “Seriously, this isn’t doing anyone any good. What are you achieving by sleeping 24/7?”

Jonathan cracked his eyes open. It wasn’t the voice in his head after all, but one much more demanding and distinctly feminine. Cordelia towered over him, arms folded over her chest as she glared down at him.

“Andrew’s worried about you. And it reeks in here.”

Jonathan closed his eyes and buried his face back in his pillow.

“You messed up. Badly. Okay, fine. Face it and move on. Stop acting like a coward. I thought you were better than that.” 

He shook his head the tiniest bit. No no no no no no no…

“What do you think Dennis would think of you right now?”

There it was. The question he had avoided asking himself, even in his darkest moments. Even the cruel little voice in his head knew better than to go there. What would Dennis think of him? He had always seen the potential for Jonathan to right his past wrongs, but now? What would he think of this snivelling, pathetic, useless Jonathan whose room stank of rotting food and body odour?

Disgusting.

“If you don’t show up to work by this Friday - today is Monday, by the way, in case you didn’t know - you’re fired.”

If she said anything else after that, Jonathan didn’t hear it. He was too far gone, lost in the howling void that used to be his soul. When he lifted his head what felt like years later, she was gone and his room was dark.

 


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of depression. I promise it'll get better soon.

I crossed another potential apartment off my list. Apartment hunting, it turned out, was a lot less fun than you’d think. Well, it would have been fun if Jonathan was helping. He would get really excited about stuff like built-in shelving units for his books and a shower that stays hot for hours, and I would look for a big kitchen and big closets and a big view. Angel paid us well enough we could afford something maybe not quite as fancy as Cordy’s old apartment, but close.

“You don’t have to find a place right away,” Angel reminded me for the four billionth time. “There’s always the hotel.”

Why does he always want us to move into the hotel? I squinted at him, trying to gauge his motives.

“Putting Jonathan and Cordelia in the same building doesn’t seem like the most ideal situation right now,” Wesley countered wryly.

I looked back at my list of listings. There was a stinging in my eyes, but I brushed it away.

“How did Cordelia find her apartment in the first place?” I asked, trying to sound cheerful. “Online? Newspaper? Did the PTB show it to her in a vision?”

“Actually, she got it before the visions were passed to her,” Angel mused. “Doyle had a guy.”

That caught my attention. A ‘guy.’ Someone on television always had a ‘guy.’ Even Warren had had a ‘guy’ for his cheap electronic and magic supplies. Angel had a lot of guys, so maybe one of them would be an apartment guy?

“Never got the guy’s name, though,” Angel continued. “I didn’t want to know. It always seemed like the less I knew about Doyle’s, er, extracurricular activities, the better.”

“Has Jonathan been helping at all?” Wesley asked.

“Sure,” I chirped. Which isn’t exactly a lie. He helps in his own small ways. I really couldn’t ask for more. He actually packed up a whole box of books yesterday before wandering back into his room. That was huge progress!

“What’s wrong with that place?” Fred asked, peering over my shoulder at the listing I had just crossed off.

“No cats allowed,” I said.

“Oh,” Fred said. “Well, if you find the perfect apartment and it doesn’t allow pets, you can always sneak Data in. He isn’t noisy or crazy-messy; the landlord would prolly never know.”

I shook my head sadly. Poor, lost Fred. She lived so long in a harsh civilization, doing whatever was necessary to survive. She’s not evil, but she also doesn’t have the proper respect for society’s rules. Come to think of it, if any of Angel Investigations were to turn evil, she would probably be the one - other than Angel, of course. She could totally pull off the Evil Professor vibe: she definitely has the brains and the looks for it. And everyone would totally underestimate her because of her diminutive stature.

“That probably wouldn’t be a good idea for you-know-who,” Gunn said, interrupting my train of thought. I made a note in the margins of my list to make sure Fred never got a PhD. That was a surefire route to becoming a supervillain (Doctor Doom, Doc Ock, Doctor Death, etc). “Moving to a new place just to get kicked out again if the landlord finds out they went against the rental agreement?”

“True,” Fred capitulated. “This is probably the worst time to be moving at all.”

“If they weren’t moving, though, Jonathan wouldn’t be depressed because Dennis would still be around,” Wesley pointed out.

“Where’s Cordy?” I interrupted. She usually hung out with the team, but she had wandered away ages ago and not come back.

“In the basement,” Angel said. “She said something about blowing off some steam down there.”

“I’ll be right back,” I said, scooping up my notes and tucking them under my arm. Last thing I needed was for Fred to see my marginalia and get any ideas. I’m not ready to take her down in the name of good versus evil just yet.

Cordelia was in the basement, but she was just reading a magazine. “How come you’re not upstairs?” I asked her, settling down on the exercise mat next to her.

“Because Angel made me promise I wouldn’t say any more nasty comments about your idiot roommate,” Cordelia said. “But his time is almost up. If he doesn’t come into work tomorrow, he’s fired.”

I clamped my lips together to keep them from trembling. “Angel wouldn’t really fire Jonathan, would he?”

Cordy rolled her eyes. “No, he probably wouldn’t. But I will. We can’t keep paying someone who isn’t doing any work. And Wesley’s a good mage, but Jonathan’s better. Being nice to him hasn’t done anything for his depression, so it’s time to try a different tactic. If threatening him doesn’t work, then he’s a lost cause and it’s time to cut him loose.”

Feet thumped down the basement stairs, and Fred poked her head over the railing. “Don’t you dare threaten Jonathan.”

“Too late,” I mumbled.

Fred sighed, exasperated. “What did you do, Cordy?”

“I told him if he doesn’t come in by tomorrow, he’s fired,” Cordy said evenly. No remorse.

“Did you really think that would help?” Fred demanded.

Cordelia tossed her magazine down. “Help snap him out of it? Maybe! I had to try, at least. No one is doing anything else, except Andrew. Everyone’s all, ‘oh just wait and he’ll get over it eventually,’ but what if he doesn’t? He was depressed for years in high school and no one knew and then he nearly blew his brains out in the belltower. Maybe if someone had told him to get over himself before then, things would have turned out differently. Sue me for trying to avoid another belltower incident.”

I don’t know at what point I had started crying, but here I sniffled loudly. Cordy pressed her lips together until they turned a bloodless white. Fred climbed down the last of the stairs and wrapped me in her arms. “Jonathan isn’t gonna kill himself,” she told us both softly. “It’s gonna take him some time - I dunno how long, maybe months - but he’s gonna pull himself together because under all that depression and bad feelings, he’s strong. Okay? Cordy, y’all just gotta be patient. And Andrew, you’re amazing and you’re doin’ a wonderful job, but you don’t gotta take this all on yourself, okay? You don’t gotta run off or change the subject every time we start talkin’ about him. If you got something to say or if you need to cry or if you need us to stop talkin’ about him, just say so.”

I nodded against Fred’s shoulder. It was like the warmth and safety and promises from Christmas all over again, but this was no holiday where everyone was liquored up and cheerful; this was just a regular day. And Fred was still making the same promises. I didn’t realise until that moment that I needed to know the team still cared for me outside the season of holiday cheer. Something loosened in my chest.

“Thanks,” I mumbled. “Cordy, please don’t fire Jonathan yet.”

Cordelia patted my back gently. “Fine. But only because you guys will need the rent money and I don’t think homelessness will do that id- I mean, Jonathan much good.”

\---

When I got home later that evening, I found Jonathan in the living room, much to my surprise and delight. He had a half-full box of books and seemed to be taking a break or something - he was lying flat on the floor, eyes closed, while Data purred happily on his chest. My arrival only warranted the barest crack of eyelids.

“Hey,” I greeted him cheerfully.

“Hey,” he mumbled, eyes drifting closed again. Data kneaded his chest and shifted position. Jonathan’s hand reached up automatically to soothe him.

I sat down on the couch and leaned over eagerly to engage him in conversation. “I found some good places that are in our price range. One of them isn’t very far from here, actually. And another one is only ten minutes from the hotel, which would be better for commuting.”

Jonathan didn’t say anything for a while, just breathed. I waited. I was getting good at waiting. At last he said, “Okay.”

“I was hoping you’d come look at them with me,” I ventured. “If you’re going to live there too, you should approve of it.”

The silence was even longer this time, and the answer, when it finally came, was not encouraging. “Whatever you think is fine.”

“Okay,” I said, not happy. I really didn’t want to look at the apartments by myself. What if I missed something? What if I chose wrong? What if it was a trap and I ended up getting kidnapped and sold as a human slave? Maybe Gunn would come with me instead. The whole team promised to help me whenever possible, so maybe this would have to be one of those times. “Um, Jonathan?”

“What?”

“Are, um…. Are you coming to work, um, tomorrow?” I asked tentatively. Jonathan didn’t know about Cordelia’s stay of execution. I had to know if he planned to fight to keep his job, or if he would just let Cordelia fire him. It didn’t count as lying if I just didn’t mention Cordy’s leniency, right?

“What’s tomorrow?” Jonathan asked.

My heart skipped a beat. That didn’t sound promising. “Friday. You know…”

Jonathan’s eyes flickered open. He looked conflicted. “Angel’s going to fire me.”

I said nothing. It wasn’t lying it wasn’t lying it wasn’t lying - and it would be worth the not-lying if Jonathan managed to come to work tomorrow and maybe Cordelia would even smile at him and tell him that she knew he had it in him and Fred would hug him and we would start to go back to how we were before…

“I’ll try,” Jonathan said.

I nearly shouted for joy. “And the apartments?”

Jonathan turned his face away from me. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to; his body language made it clear that he wasn’t going to look at the apartments with me. I felt a sharp pain in my side, like a dull knife digging into my ribs.

“That’s okay,” I said with forced cheer. “I’m going to find us the best apartment ever!”

“We already found the best apartment ever,” Jonathan growled. It was the most number of words I’d heard him string together in a long time. “But the universe can’t fucking leave us alone and let us have one ounce of happiness. It gave us one shot and I fucked up - I fucked up - I’m so sorry, I…” He gasped sharply, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

I dropped to the floor and hugged his prone body as best as I could, laying my head on his stomach next to Data’s soft weight. “You didn’t,” I promised. “You were amazing. You  _ are _ amazing. And you’re going to continue to be amazing. I wish he was still here too. I miss him every day.”

“You don’t understand,” Jonathan whispered.

My heart squeezed sympathetically. “I want to,” I said. “Please just talk to me.”

Jonathan was silent again for a long time. I listened to his heartbeat echoing through his torso as his stomach rose and fell with each breath. He was still breathing. That was all that mattered. After countless minutes, I felt him draw in a larger breath. This was it… This was the moment of truth.

“I have to pee. Get up.”

I raised my head and Jonathan pulled Data off his chest by the scruff of his neck, then rolled to his feet and disappeared into the bathroom. He didn’t come back to the living room for a long time afterwards. He didn’t go to work the next day.

\---

Gunn went with me to the apartments. I looked at each one with a critical eye, but in truth it was starting to get hard to bring myself to care. I ended up applying for three, and a couple days later got a call from the landlord of the one close to the hotel, saying that if we still wanted it the apartment was ours. I accepted then and there. First and last month’s rent, plus a security deposit. It was more money than I had ever paid for something in my entire life. It took Jonathan and my combined savings, plus an advance on our next paycheck from Angel, but I was able to secure the apartment and get the key. We could move in any time. Cordelia wrote a letter to our current landlord, letting him know the apartment would be vacated by the end of the month. The first month of the new year would be spent packing up our meager possessions and by February 1st we’d be in a new place.

Our new apartment building wasn’t quite as nice as Pearson Arms, but the short distance to work made up for the halls with little character. The apartment had two bedrooms, a large living room, a small kitchen (but I would make it work somehow), and a serviceable bathroom. The floors were covered in lush carpet - brand new, the landlord said. I could already envision where we would set up our furniture. We could make this a home.

I don’t know what else to say. It would have to do.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for suicidal thoughts and talk. Sorry folks I promise we're almost out of the woods!

Jonathan breathed.

It didn’t sound like such a major accomplishment, but for him it was everything. It meant he was still alive. It meant the voice in his head hadn’t won yet. He breathed and when he concentrated on breathing the world around him didn’t seem so awful.

What would Dennis think of him?

For once it wasn’t a cruel mocking question, full of spite and hatred, but a genuine consideration. What  _ would _ Dennis think of him? Jonathan breathed again - in and out - careful and measured - and let his mind remember.

He would be worried. He would be constantly by Jonathan’s side with whatever he needed at that moment: a tissue, a ghostly hug, food. He would be a sympathetic ear, ready to listen when Jonathan finally released all the horrible thoughts he was holding in his head. He would hear it all and reserve judgement - not even to immediately defend Jonathan against himself. He would tousle Jonathan’s hair and remind him that things were rough right now but all Jonathan needed to do was keep breathing and this would pass. Maybe it wouldn’t really help, but Dennis would keep saying it until Jonathan was ready to listen.

Jonathan opened his eyes. He was finally ready to listen.

He slid out of bed and looked around at what a mess his room was. It had never been the neatest to begin with, but now it was an absolute train wreck. It looked like a room on television that had just been robbed or someone had ransacked it looking for something in particular. Andrew had been gently reminding him for a week now that they had to be out at the end of the month (when was that, exactly?) and he needed to start packing. First things first: before he could pack up his clothes, they needed to be clean. Might as well include the clothes he was wearing right now, but he didn’t want to put clean clothes on while his body was still dirty.

It took effort, but Jonathan dug a scrap of paper and a pen out of the landfill that was his room. Shower, he scrawled at the top. Laundry. Dishes. Take out trash. Pack.

He paused, then reversed the last two. Pack first, figure out what to keep and what to throw out, then take it all to the communal dumpster.

Having a plan made him feel a little better. He could take it one piece at a time. He scrounged around his room until he found a shirt and some pants that were shoved into the back of his closet. The pants had always been just a little too tight, but they would have to do. He grabbed clean socks and underwear, and wandered into the bathroom to shower.

He had no idea what time or what day it was, but that didn’t matter. He washed methodically, not thinking of anything in particular. When he was finished, he dried himself off briskly and brushed his teeth. When he dressed, the clothes hung loosely off his framed. Nevertheless, he felt vaguely human again as he wandered into the living room, where boxes lay everywhere: some full and taped up and marked with sharpie as  _ Kitchen _ or  _ A’s Clothes _ or  _ Books _ , others empty and waiting to be filled. A calendar had been tacked to the wall, counting down the days. According to the days crossed off, today was the twelfth of January. Jonathan tried to do calculations in his head: did that seem right? He had no idea.

He smiled slightly as he looked at all the boxes that were already filled. They had just under three weeks before they had to vacate the apartment, but Andrew was already half done with the packing. Data was asleep on top of a pile of neatly stacked boxes. When Jonathan approached, the kitten lifted his head sleepily and emitted a soft  _ purrup? _ Jonathan scratched him gently behind his ear.

There was a sound from down the hallway and Jonathan heard Andrew’s voice approaching. It sounded like he was talking on the phone, but based on the conversation it was impossible to pinpoint who would be on the other end. “- seen it, you would have loved it. And then Cordy came out of nowhere with a baseball bat that she…”

Andrew entered the living room and his voice died as he saw Jonathan standing there. There was no phone in sight: Andrew’s hands were full carrying another carefully taped and labelled box. Jonathan frowned curiously. “Who were you talking to?”

Andrew set the box down on the floor. “You’re up! I wasn’t sure if you’d be making an appearance today. Do you want something to eat? It’s past noon but it’s never too late for breakfast foods. I can make some sausage if you want?”

Jonathan had forgotten to write anything about food on his list, but he wasn’t really hungry anyway. It was little surprise his pants kept slipping down his hips. “I’m fine, maybe later. Who were you talking to?”

Andrew swallowed. He looked nervous, like he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t be. “Just - myself, I guess.”

“You were telling yourself about something Cordy did that you already knew she did?” Jonathan asked, nonplussed.

Andrew wouldn’t meet Jonathan’s eye. “Uh huh.” Suddenly his face crumpled. “No. I can’t lie - I was talking - well, sometimes it’s just easier and less lonely to pretend he’s still here…”

Jonathan felt like his heart had plummeted into ice water. “You were talking to Dennis?” he asked, his voice cracking on the last word.

Andrew nodded.

Fury mounted behind Jonathan’s eyes. He didn’t know who it was directed at - himself or Andrew or Dennis or the universe in general - but he had to release it on someone or it would consume him from the inside out, and there was only one convenient target. “Are you fucking kidding me? What do you think you’re playing at? Dennis was a real person - not - not just some empty air and a pen! He can’t be replaced by cranking up the AC and talking to yourself.”

“I - I wasn’t - I can’t -” Tears welled up in Andrew’s eyes and coursed down his cheeks. “I wasn’t replacing him. I just… I’m so tired of being alone.”

On a different day at a different time in a different mindset, Jonathan might have felt bad for Andrew. He might even feel guilty for pushing Andrew away so hard that he had to resort to talking to himself to not feel alone. But he was too wrapped up in a righteous fury. “Get over it,” he snapped. “You live alone, you die alone, and then there’s nothing left.” He stomped out of the living room - but he didn’t head for his bedroom. He wrenched open the front door and slammed out into the apartment building.

Outside was sunny but crisp. He walked quickly, letting the movement and his anger warm him up from the inside. He wasn’t headed anywhere in particular; he barely saw the street signs as he passed. He just needed to get out: out of the apartment, out of his head, out of this life.

He walked until the anger gradually drained into numb exhaustion. He felt bad for yelling at Andrew and then storming out. He should go back and apologize - for his temper but also for pushing Andrew away for so long and for getting them into this situation in the first place. A shadow passed over the sun, and Jonathan slowed to an amble. He had ended up by a park. He detoured onto one of the winding pedestrian paths. Not many people were out at this time of day. He gradually found himself next to a large pond. How easy it would be to jump in and let nature take him into the next world.

Jonathan sat down on a bench facing the pond. He wasn’t quite ready to take the leap, though it was tempting. He let the heat seep from his body until he was shivering slightly. He wished he had brought a jacket.

He had sat there long enough for his butt to grow numb when someone joined him on the bench. He knew who it was without looking.

“How did you find me?”

Wesley held out a frayed piece of cloth. “Locator spell. I found this under your pillow and figured there was a good chance you’d left enough of an imprint on it that I could use it to find you. And sure enough. How are you able to sleep with that smell so close?”

Jonathan took the delicate scrap of Dennis’ shirt. “It doesn’t smell as bad now as it did at first,” he admitted. “At first it smelled like death itself. I thought maybe if I breathed in that smell enough, it would take me away too. How badly is Andrew freaking out?”

“Very badly,” Wesley said. “He is convinced that you jumped off the nearest bridge or stepped in front of a car.”

“It was tempting.” He meant it as a morbid joke, but it came out flat and all too serious. Wesley of all people, he thought, might understand. Angel too, but the sun is still hanging out low on the horizon so it had to be Wesley. Somehow it always ended up being Wesley to catch him when Andrew and Dennis weren’t around. “Where is he?”

“Fred convinced him to stay behind in case you came home before I found you.”

Jonathan didn’t say anything for a long time. Wesley waited patiently. When Jonathan next spoke, it was hesitant and clumsy: “Did you - I mean when things - when - well, this summer did you ever consider…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the question.

“Suicide?” Wesley supplied. Jonathan did not nod but nor did he demur. “I didn’t. Not even when Angel tried to kill me did I think I deserved to die. This is not to say I am somehow stronger, mentally, than you are, of course. The lowest points in my life - when I was fired from the Watcher’s Council, betraying Angel and being betrayed in return - I have survived on a righteous fury that I didn’t deserve what was happening to me. A willful ignorance, if you will.”

“Suicide is the coward’s way out,” Jonathan quoted dully.

“Surrendering is the coward’s way out,” Wesley corrected him. “Whether it is to death or to the blackness inside yourself that you didn’t know was there or to injustice...to give up fighting altogether is what a coward will do. You haven’t surrendered yet. And you won’t.”

Jonathan remained silent. He wasn’t entirely convinced by this little speech, but it stirred something in his chest. Not quite a fire, but the tiniest of embers.

“It was Connor, you know.”

Jonathan looked at Wesley. “What was?”

“He was just a baby.” Wesley wasn’t looking at Jonathan as he spoke. “I held him in my arms. He was so small he could fit in just my palms. And then I found a prophecy - a fake one, but I didn’t know that at the time - that said Angel was going to kill him. I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t put Angel through that torture; he loved Connor so much, it would destroy him if anything happened by his own hand. So I stole Connor and handed him over to Angel’s biggest enemy. And Justine slit my throat and Connor was lost to an alternate dimension where time goes by much quicker, and he was raised by that enemy. When he returned to Earth, he was 18 years old and hellbent on - well, you saw what he did to Angel.”

The final piece slid into place. The picture it formed was grim - but there was also salvation. Wesley had caused Angel to lose the dearest thing in the world to him. But Connor had returned - albeit warped and brainwashed. But he had returned. There was time for them to repair the damage.

“Too bad Dennis won’t ever be coming back,” Jonathan muttered.

Wesley drew in a big breath and let it out slowly. “He was always quite stubborn, you know. If anyone can figure out a way to come back to Earth as a ghost after getting exorcised, it will be him.”

Jonathan couldn’t tell if that was meant to be funny, but he didn’t laugh. He wished it were true. “What…” He stopped before he could go any further.

Wesley shifted slightly, opening his body language to show that he was listening.

“What would you do...I mean, how would you react if you lost Gunn? Like, he was gone forever because of something you did?” Jonathan breathed shallowly, wondering if he had been too obvious and Wesley might put two and two together.

Wesley weighed the question carefully. “It would… well, I can’t know for sure if it would destroy me altogether. I already lost him - in a manner of speaking - once. And that is when I surrendered to the darkness that told me it was justifiable to hold a woman captive in my closet. But I had lost everything, not just Charles.

“But if the parallel holds, then in this scenario I would have to kill him accidentally but still by my own hand, and I… don’t think I care to examine what would become of me in that instance.”

Jonathan breathed normally again. Wesley’s confession was reassuring in a very twisted way. “I should go home.” Home to Andrew, who had been talking to empty air like it was Dennis. It still hurt in a way that left him gasping like an asthma attack was about to start. But it was his own fault - not only what had happened to Dennis, but the resulting emotional withdrawal that had left Andrew feeling so alone. Jonathan had no one to blame but himself.

“I’ll give you a lift,” Wesley offered.

The walk back to the car and then the ensuing ride were all taken in silence. That was fine by Jonathan; he knew he was going to walk into a scene of barely controlled chaos when he got home. If he was lucky it was just Fred and Andrew who would be waiting for him. If he was very unlucky, the rest of the team minus Angel had been dispatched to every corner of L.A. to track him down.

What greeted him was neither of those options, but somewhere in between.

“Oh my god he’s home,” Andrew cried, launching himself at Jonathan, who had just enough time to register something gripped tight in Andrew’s fist before it disappeared out of his line of sight. Andrew hugged him tight, the object in his hand digging into Jonathan’s back.

“‘Msorry,” Jonathan mumbled incoherently into Andrew’s shoulder.

“No, I’m sorry,” Andrew sniffled. He pulled back slightly to look Jonathan over, checking for signs of damage. “I’m so so sorry. I didn’t know what else to do. I - I thought you were gone.”

Jonathan reached around to pull the object from Andrew’s hand: the house phone. He stared at it blankly for a moment then brought the receiver to his ear.

“Andrew? Andrew? Is he okay? Is he hurt?”

“Mom?” Jonathan croaked. He glanced at Andrew, who was looking distraught.

“Oh, baby, are you okay?”

“I’m…” Jonathan didn’t know what to say. He sank on the nearest available surface, clutching the phone tight. “Mom…” His voice was choked with emotions that threatened to spill out: exhaustion, sadness, fear, relief, desperation, and an unnamable sense of being a child all over again, safe and protected by his parents if only through the sound of their voices.

“It’s okay, baby,” his mom said. “You don’t have to say anything. We’ve been so worried when we didn’t hear from you since Hanukkah. And then Andrew called us today and told us what’s been going on. If we’d known… Honey, you don’t have to hide from us. I thought we were past this.”

Jonathan let out a gasping, shaky sob. He couldn’t speak.

“Listen to me, Jonathan. I can’t - we can’t handle not knowing you’re dead or alive. Especially with everything that just happened with your friend. All I ask is that you call us once a week to let us know you’re okay. Okay? You don’t have to say anything, but we just need to hear that you’re still alive.”

Jonathan could hear the tears in her voice. He hated knowing how scared and upset his bouts of depression made her. He hated how his father would get that helpless look in his eyes as he watched Jonathan struggle. At last - at long, long last - he gave himself over entirely to his emotions, letting them tear out of him as his mother whispered softly in his ear. Andrew wrapped his arms around Jonathan from behind and laid his head on Jonathan’s shoulder blade.

Jonathan cried until he had nothing left inside him. He felt empty...but in a good way. Wholesome - washed clean. His mother was still murmuring soothing words to him. She paused when Jonathan quieted.

“Better?”

Jonathan hiccupped but said nothing.

“Once a week, Jonathan. Your father and I will be waiting for the call. I’m passing the phone over to him now. I love you.”

“Love you…” Jonathan whispered.

The conversation with his father was a bit more ordinary, though still heavily one-sided. He talked about how things were in Sunnydale - things seemed to be heating up a lot more than usual there - and how work was going and how he had run into little Willow Rosenberg the other day, only she wasn’t so little anymore. Jonathan blanched slightly at the name, but he managed to hold himself together. She had been pleasant but a little distant, his father reported, though she always had been such a mousy little girl.

“Take care of yourself,” he ended. “Don’t give your mother an excuse to go tearing down to L.A. to come looking for you.”

Jonathan murmured something like assent and then the call was over. He hung up the phone with hands that trembled.

Andrew lifted his head off Jonathan’s back. “Are you mad?”

“No,” Jonathan replied honestly. He couldn’t explain it, but for this brief shining moment, however long or short it would turn out to be, he felt okay again. He still missed Dennis like hell, but he felt...hope. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Andrew insisted. “I’m the one who should be sorry.”

Jonathan shook his head slowly. Then he did something he hadn’t done for a very long time: he turned around and hugged Andrew back. Andrew melted into the embrace. Fred and Wesley had left at some point while Jonathan was still on the phone - they were nowhere to be seen.

Andrew was not going to be the first to pull away, and Jonathan found himself lacking the will to do so. They stayed like that for several long minutes until Jonathan finally sat back a little. “So...sausages?”

Andrew nodded, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “And eggs and pancakes if you want them. And toast. I’ve got some sourdough that needs to be eaten up.”

“Just sausage and toast,” Jonathan said. He got up and put the phone receiver back in the cradle. “Thanks.”

“It’s no problem!” Andrew chirped.

Not for the food, Jonathan wanted to tell him, but the moment was already past. “Does it help? Talking to him, I mean. Does it - does it make it less lonely?”

Andrew shrugged, moving into the kitchen; Jonathan followed. “Not really. Because he never answers back.”

“Yeah,” Jonathan agreed, not really sure what he was agreeing to. “I’ll be right back.”

Andrew froze, which made Jonathan pause. “What?”

Andrew looked chagrined. “Well, I just...wasn’t sure if you meant that or if you were just gonna go back to your room and not come out again.”

“Oh.” Jonathan didn’t remember having done that, but if it made Andrew freeze like this he must have. “No I really am going to come back.”

Andrew smiled tentatively. “Good. I’ll put extra butter on your toast for you.”

Jonathan retreated to his bedroom and picked up the list he had written earlier. His energy was fast waning; there was no way he’d be able to do any of the things he had originally set out to do.

So he added one more item to the list, one he was sure he could do: Spend time with Andrew.

Jonathan took a deep breath, steeled himself, and went back into the kitchen to ask how work was going these days.


	29. Chapter 29

Moving day.

Time had been on fast-forward for Jonathan. Everything seemed to be a flurry of activity as he gradually came out of his fog just enough to get all his belongings packed and ready for the big day. When the hell had he accumulated all this stuff? Clothes and action figures and knickknacks and DVDs and magic supplies - not to mention all of the generic household stuff Cordelia had left behind when she moved into the hotel. All of it had to be boxed up, labelled, and set aside for the move.

Once Jonathan got into the groove of packing, he enjoyed it. It kept his mind occupied and prevented him from thinking, which was a nice change of pace. While clearing out the junk drawer, however, Jonathan found something that made his heart pound in his chest: the knife he had meant to use to kill himself under the First Evil’s influence. He remembered hiding it there, but then he had forgotten about it altogether. Apparently Andrew had never found it, or else it would have gone away with all the other knives. Jonathan touched the tip of the knife to his index finger; it was still sharp. After a long moment of consideration, he packed it up along with the rest of the extension cords, screwdrivers, nails, and assorted other stuff that was tossed together in the drawer. In the new place, he would make sure to unpack this box himself and put the knife where it belonged.

Now, everything was ready to go. The only things left were cleaning supplies, though Jonathan really wasn’t sure what was the point of cleaning an apartment that was going to be demolished soon. “Getting my security deposit back,” he could imagine Cordelia sniping at him if he ventured to voice such an opinion out loud. They were not yet back on speaking terms, however, and he hadn’t actually seen her since the day she threatened to fire him.

Jonathan stared at the towering stacks of boxes and realised he had no idea what the plan was. He looked at Andrew, who was putting Data into his harness and attaching the leash. “Um, do we need to hire a van or something?”

Andrew shook his head. “Gunn’s bringing his truck for the furniture. It’ll probably take us a few trips, but it’s cheaper than hiring a van. The boxes we can put into the Plymouth and Ol’ Granny.”

“Furniture?” Jonathan repeated, confused. “I thought the furniture belonged to the apartment.”

Andrew shrugged. “Cordelia and I talked to the building manager. He said we can keep the furniture, since they don’t really have any use for it. Gunn said we should just take it without asking for permission, since they’re the ones throwing us out on our asses, but I didn’t want to do that.”

“Oh.” Jonathan scratched his head. “I didn’t know you’d done that.”

Andrew had taken care of so much: finding a new apartment, setting up utilities, packing up 90% of their belongings, arranging for them to keep the furniture, picking a moving day and getting everyone to help - and who knew what else. When had he become so responsible? Jonathan felt annoyed with himself for making Andrew do this all on his own, but under that anger there was also a gleam of...pride? He was proud of Andrew for stepping up to the plate. He would have to find some way of showing Andrew what a good job he had done.

“The others should be here soon,” Andrew said. Data was prancing around the room in his harness, the leash dragging behind him. All of his toys and food and litter box had been packed away, but he was more interested in seeing which boxes he could knock over anyway.

At that moment, there was a knock on the door. “It’s unlocked,” Andrew called. He snagged Data to make sure he didn’t try to run for the door as the group filed in. Everyone was there except Angel; moving apartments in the middle of the night seemed like an auspicious start to their new household, so Angel couldn’t help. But there were still plenty of hands to help. Wesley, Gunn, Fred, Lorne, and even Cordelia were ready to get started.

Cordelia cracked her knuckles. “What should we start with?”

“We brought tarps and bungee cords for the truck bed,” Gunn added. “Let’s see how much stuff we can cram in there.”

It suddenly felt like there was too much. Both beds, both sets of mattresses, dressers, nightstands, the couch, the coffee table, the dining table, bookcases… How were they going to get it all moved in with just two cars and a truck?

“Um, Wes and Gunn, if you guys can load the furniture into the truck?” Andrew said. He looked around at what all needed to go. Most of it, except the bedroom furniture, had been moved into the living room for ease of access. “Everything that can fit. Jonathan and I will help. Lorne, Fred, and Cordelia, can you guys move boxes? Doesn’t matter what we bring first, but make sure to grab Data’s stuff. He’s going to go on the first trip.”

“Got it,” Fred said with a cheerful smile. “Should we put him in one of the bedrooms so he doesn’t dash out the door?”

Andrew pressed a kiss to the top of Data’s head. “Good idea. Be a good boy, Data.” He carried the cat to the master bedroom and shut the door firmly.

“Let’s start with the easy stuff,” Wes said to Gunn and Jonathan. “Anything rectangular, like the bookcases and tables. Can the legs come off the dining table?”

Jonathan squatted down to look. The girls and Lorne propped open the front door and were already taking boxes down to the waiting cars. “Yeah. I’ll need a screwdriver, though.”

“Flathead or Phillips?”

“Phillips,” Jonathan said. “Should be in box labelled junk drawer - wait I’ll get it.”

“Already got it,” Wesley said, passing it to him. The junk drawer box stood open - had Wesley seen the knife? He gave no indication either way, but merely folded the cardboard flaps into each other before helping Gunn with a large bookcase. Andrew followed them down with a box of clothes.

The apartment became a flurry of activity. People nearly collided on the stairs and in the doorway; boxes were wrestled with and some nearly dropped; Andrew tried to carry the television by himself and halfway down the stairs figured out that Cordelia’s predictions of it being too heavy were absolutely true. Lorne helped him take it down the rest of the way. Jonathan let himself get caught up in the rhythm of the moment, not focusing on anything in particular. He moved automatically, lifting, carrying, dismantling. Before he knew it, all three vehicles were full.

“I’ll grab Data and we can head over,” Andrew said, dashing back up the stairs one last time.

Jonathan climbed into the driver’s seat of the Intrepid. The backseat was crammed with boxes and small furniture. He realised he had no idea where they were going - where this new apartment was located. All he knew was it was closer to the hotel.

Andrew came back, Data curled calmly in his arms. “I should probably drive, since I know where we’re going” he said to Jonathan, who shook his head.

“Just tell me where to go.”

Navigating L.A. traffic was a strange blessing. It felt normal. It felt welcome. He was barely rusty at all, though the car handled differently loaded down with heavy boxes. He eased through the crowded streets, following Andrew’s directions until they pulled up to a simple apartment complex. Jonathan recognized the neighbourhood: decent, clean, but affordable. They parked in their own designated spot, while the others parked on the street.

“Let’s unload the boxes, then maybe one or two people can stay behind and start unpacking,” Andrew suggested.

Unloading seemed to take far less time than loading. It helped that the new apartment was on the ground floor - no stairs to navigate. In no time, all three vehicles were empty and the new apartment was littered with boxes and random bits of furniture.

“I’ll stay and start unpacking,” Jonathan said. He wanted to look over the place Andrew had chosen for them.

“I’ll stay too,” Lorne said. “Less conspicuous.”

The rest of the gang left, Andrew taking Ol’ Granny’s keys from Jonathan. Jonathan released Data from the bathroom, where he had been locked up while the front door stood open. He watched the tiny cat stalk warily around the new apartment, eyes wide and sniffing everything. Data mewled an inquiry at Jonathan.

The setup wasn’t terribly different from the old apartment. There was a master bedroom with an attached half-bath, which Andrew insisted on Jonathan taking. The second bedroom, however, was much bigger than the one at the old place; Cordelia would have a hard time turning this one into a glorified closet. The living room was huge, though the kitchen was smaller than Andrew probably would have liked. But there was a dishwasher, so Jonathan was happy with it. The cupboards were all empty and ready to be filled with a new start.

“How ya doing?” Lorne asked as Jonathan closed the last cupboard.

Jonathan considered. “I’m okay as long as I don’t think too hard.”

Lorne came over and pulled Jonathan into a one-armed hug. Jonathan resisted for a moment, but then he found himself leaning into the comfort. “I know it’s none of my business, and you can tell me to butt out,” Lorne said softly, “but ever since everything that happened with Dennis, I’ve been remembering that particular pickle you came to me with a few weeks before Thanksgiving.”

Jonathan’s heart jolted as he remembered the conversation he’d had with Lorne back then. He pulled away. Lorne knew - or had taken a pretty close guess. “It’s not - it really wasn’t…” He didn’t know what to say. “Did you tell anyone?”

Lorne shook his head. “My lips are sealed. But I wanted to say that I’m so sorry for your loss - including the stuff none of us know about.”

Jonathan leaned against the counter and closed his eyes, focusing on breathing. It hurt...but he was finding ways to work around the hurt and keep it from controlling his life. He was more and more able to push the pain aside and focus on other things. And it helped to finally have someone who understood.

“You’re going to be just fine in the end,” Lorne told him.

Jonathan shook his head. “No, I… Thanks.” He opened his eyes and looked at Lorne. “I miss him so much.”

“I know you do,” Lorne said. He reached out and brushed a tear from Jonathan’s cheek. “If there was something I could say to magically make it all better, I would in a heartbeat. But it’s good to see you again. We’ve missed your pretty face at work.”

Jonathan blushed. Lorne was just being facetious, obviously. No one could claim Jonathan had a pretty face. “Thanks. Andrew’s done an amazing job finding this place.”

“He has,” Lorne agreed. “What say we start making it look like a proper home?”

“Sure. Let’s start in the living room. Andrew’s going to want to set up the kitchen himself,” Jonathan said.

They set to work. There wasn’t a lot they could do just yet, but they had enough bookcases to start setting up. They worked mostly in silence.

Lorne knew about Jonathan and Dennis. As Jonathan put books onto the shelves, arranging them by subject and then by author, he wondered if he should tell Andrew the truth. Partially as an explanation for the last two months of depression, but mostly so that maybe Jonathan didn’t have to carry this pain in his chest by himself anymore. While there was some modicum of embarrassment in the knowledge that Lorne had figured things out, there was also predominantly a sense of relief. Like he had been lying on his back with a forty-pound weight on his chest, and Lorne had swooped down and taken five pounds off. Telling Andrew might take even more weight off.

He would wait, though. For a better opportunity. He didn’t want it to come across as a bid for pity. ‘Sorry I’ve been a shitty friend it’s because I lost not just a close friend but also something of a lover and I still feel like shit about it aren’t I so tragic?’ No way.

Lorne and Jonathan finished what they could before the others returned with the second load, so they ordered a couple pizzas to be delivered. The cars pulled up just as Lorne hung up.

“This is going to take more loads than we thought,” Fred told them.

“How did we get so much stuff?” Andrew wondered. “We’ve only been here for a few months.”

“A bunch of it is stuff that I left behind or was included with the apartment,” Cordelia told him.

“Pizza is on its way,” Lorne announced, much to Fred’s delight. They all trouped down to the vehicles to start unloading the second round.

When the pizza arrived, Jonathan gamely ate a piece. While the others laughed and joked around, he didn’t say much, but nor did he have a driving desire to retreat to his bedroom. He was okay with their company as long as they didn’t take any overbearing interest in him.

The day waned; they continued to work as fast as they could, but everyone was getting tired after the third trip. Fred snapped at Lorne for making an inappropriate joke, and Wesley tripped over a box that had been left carelessly in the way. Fortunately, he wasn’t hurt, except for his ego.

The fourth and last trip between apartments only had a few straggling bits of odd furniture and a couple boxes. Andrew and Cordelia had stayed behind to scrub the apartment as best as they could. Not that it really mattered, but Cordelia wanted her full security deposit back.

Once the last of stuff was brought into the apartment, Jonathan waved a sleepy goodbye to his friends and looked around. The place was a mess. In spite of their best efforts, he and Lorne had only gotten about half the furniture arranged and just over a third of the boxes unpacked. Jonathan thought about tackling his room, getting everything to how he wanted it, but something stopped him. He felt itchy - almost claustrophobic. Maybe it was being in a new apartment or maybe it was the chaotic mess, but he needed to step outside for a minute. Explore their new surroundings.

Jonathan left a note for Andrew just in case he came home while Jonathan was still gone, made sure Data had everything he would need, grabbed his shiny new key, and walked out the front door.

The neighbourhood was bathed in rosy light as the sun made its way towards the horizon. It was a quiet area, with the residents keeping to themselves mostly. A little further on was a cache of shops, which were still open for business. Jonathan lingered by a few, but didn’t go into any; he had a few dollars in his wallet but no real desire to spend them.

Until he found the comic book shop, that is.

This wasn’t the same comic book shop he and Andrew normally frequented. It was larger, slightly more sterile-feeling, and had a large Batman replica suit standing guard in the window. When Jonathan slipped into the store, the clerk behind the register nodded a hello before returning to typing something on his phone. “Lemme know if you need anything,” he said, so quickly and quietly that Jonathan had trouble parsing the words for a moment.

He browsed the aisles, not really looking for anything in particular. Sorting through some of the comic bins, he found a couple he’d been meaning to read and made a mental note to come back later with more cash. Once he was working and pulling his own weight again.

Towards the back of the store, in a locked case on a shelf just above Jonathan’s head, he spotted something that made him stop and backtrack slightly. It was an Han Solo action figure - vintage, from 1977. It even had its little blaster. It was out of its original packaging, so not worth as much as it could be. Jonathan lifted one finger to touch the glass shielding him from the figurine.

He looked at the price tag again, just visible under Han’s raised arm. $35.00 was more than he had on him, and he didn’t have a credit card. He pulled out his wallet and rifled through the contents. $17.00 in small bills and a free smoothie coupon. He wondered if he could get the kid at the register to hold the figure for him until he ran home and grabbed more cash - and his fingers brushed against something deep in the recesses of his wallet. It was his emergency $20.00 bill that his parents had taught him to carry at all times. His eyes lit up. This wasn’t technically an emergency, true, but he would just replace it when he got home.

Jonathan went up to the register. “I want to buy that Han Solo back there,” he said, pointing at the case in question.

Less than five minutes later, he walked out of the store with the wrapped up Han Solo tucked under his arm.

It was deep twilight now, and Jonathan hurried back to the apartment. He had been feeling a lot better for most of the day, but now anxiety was returning, causing his heart to speed up and his breath to come in short pants. He almost walked right past their new apartment building, so lost in his discomfort and unused to the new surroundings. He dashed for the door, slid the key into the lock, and let himself in.

Blessed silence.

Data trotted over to greet him. Jonathan lifted him up and stroked him with trembling hands. He cursed himself for being weak and pathetic, but there was another voice in the back of his head, one he wasn’t used to hearing. This one reminded him that he’d made huge strides today and it was alright that he wasn’t at 100% yet. He staggered towards his bedroom, but the mess in there did not help calm him down.

_ Think _ , he ordered himself.  _ Breathe. Put the cat down and start organizing things. One at a time. _

His hands did not want to obey. He didn’t know where to start. With monumental, concentrated effort, he lowered Data to the floor and let the cat decide for him. When Data wandered over to the bed and jumped on top, Jonathan followed and grabbed his sheets to start making the bed. Blankets, pillows - everything was put in its place. By the time he finished, his heart had slowed back to normal and he didn’t feel like his skeleton was trying to climb out of his skin anymore.

“What next?” he whispered to Data, who was busy stalking his own shadow against the wall. “Good call. Wall decorations.” He shifted through his stuff until he found his posters. There weren’t many, but he had picked up a couple of X-Men and Batman posters from their own comic shop over the last few months.

He had just pushed the last tack into place when the front door rattled and opened. Data streaked into the living room to greet whoever just came in. Judging from the singular voice, it sounded like Andrew was on his own; Cordelia must have gone home. Good. Jonathan grabbed the Han Solo figurine before his courage could leave him, and went into the living room.

Andrew looked tired and surprised to see him. “The old place is all clean - Cordelia should definitely be getting her full deposit back.” He grinned wearily. “You and Lorne worked hard over here too!”

“Yeah,” Jonathan agreed distractedly. “Uh, I got you something.” He thrust the figure at Andrew, who accepted it with surprised fumbling.

Andrew’s eyes widened. “Is this the original 1977 action figure with the small head?”

Jonathan nodded. “Yup. Uh, Merry belated Christmas. And, you know, thanks...for everything.”

Tears welled up as Andrew threw his arms around Jonathan. The little figure dug into Jonathan’s shoulder blade. “Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you. I can’t believe it.” He pulled away. “Does this mean you’re feeling better?”

Jonathan shrugged. “I think so. A little bit. There are still some times when I just want to… I mean, I’m not at one hundred percent yet. But…” He didn’t know how to say it. “I’m sorry for putting you through all that.”

Andrew waved away his apology. “It’s fine. Dennis was important to both of us.”

Jonathan sat down on the couch and scratched his head. “Yeah, he, um… Well, I want to talk to you about - about that. About Dennis. And how, um, important he was. To...to me.”

Andrew sat down on the other end of the couch, turning so that he faced Jonathan directly. His fingers twisted nervously around Han’s tiny arms. “What are you talking about?”

Jonathan took a deep breath. “Dennis and I weren’t just friends. We were really really close. I - I don’t really know how to define it, exactly, but we, um…” He could feel heat rising in his cheeks. “We sort of had, um, sex. A few times. Sort of.”

A look of awed bewilderment descended on Andrew’s face. “You had sex with Dennis?” he repeated. “How does that even work?”

The blush tripled in intensity. “I don’t want to get into the details,” he said hastily. “But -”

“Are you gay?” Andrew interrupted, confused. “It’s okay if you are! Really. You could have told me, you know.”

“I’m not,” Jonathan said fervently. “I wondered the same thing at first, since Dennis is a guy and everything, but - no, I’m really not. I just… I really liked him and he really liked me and I guess there was just a connection between us. Somehow. Or maybe he did it out of pity, I don’t know.”

“He wouldn’t,” Andrew contradicted him sternly. “Dennis was never anything but honest and sweet.” A lone tear slid down his cheek. “Poor Jonathan. No wonder you got depressed. In your situation, Juliet couldn’t even handle it and immediately killed herself.”

Jonathan didn’t know which to address first - that Andrew had read Romeo and Juliet, or that in Andrew’s mind Jonathan was Juliet. “That’s - we’re - I wouldn’t say we were exactly Romeo and Juliet,” he protested. “I don’t know  _ what _ we were. That’s what makes it so frustrating!” His voice was rising; finally, he could let out all the emotions that had been clogging up his system for weeks. “We didn’t talk about it because that would make it awkward or maybe it was just me who thought so but we just let it take its course and now I don’t even know what to say. Did I lose one of my best friends or did I lose my lover? Did I kill him or was he taken from me? Who can even make that judgement?” He looked helplessly at Andrew. “I don’t know,” he said, his voice wracked with pain.

Andrew slid across the couch and looped his arm around Jonathan’s shoulders, pulling him in for a tight side-hug. Jonathan leaned his head against Andrew’s shoulders. Tears sprang forth in his eyes, but he was tired of crying. He was tired of feeling down. Pouring out his troubles to Andrew’s sympathetic ear seemed to have loosened something inside his chest and he suddenly felt like he could breathe freely again.

“It doesn’t excuse the way I’ve been acting,” he mumbled into Andrew’s shirt. “I’m so sorry for leaving you when you needed me, I really am. Except I guess you didn’t need me after all.”

“Yes, I did,” Andrew admitted. “I wish I had known what you were going through so I could have helped out more. But now that you’re feeling better, you can come back to work and -”

“I’m not coming back.” It was something that had been brewing deep in his heart for a while now, but it wasn’t until the words tumbled from his mouth that he realised they were absolutely true.

“Well, sure,” Andrew said readily. “Of course I didn’t mean, like, tomorrow. But maybe in a week or so.”

Jonathan shook his head, pulling away. “I’m not returning to Angel Investigations ever. I’m going to find some other work. I… I don’t trust my magic anymore. I don’t want the pressure. I’ll get a job in retail or something. Something that I can pay the bills with but doesn’t put other people’s lives in my hands.”

“But…” Andrew looked heartbroken; his whole world had just been turned upside down. “But how are we supposed to redeem ourselves for the bad stuff we did?”

“You should keep working for Angel if you want,” Jonathan told him. “It’s good for you, and the others will look out for you. And, I dunno, maybe I can still be like a consultant or something. But maybe… maybe redemption doesn’t have to be about helping the helpless when there’s better people than me who can do it. Maybe redemption can be about taking my place in normal society and just living a normal life.”

Andrew’s lip trembled. “Do you want me to tell the others?”

Jonathan shook his head. “No. In a few days I’ll go in and talk to Angel. Do you think I should write up a two weeks notice? Considering I haven’t actually worked in about two months…”

Andrew sniffled. “I don’t know.”

Jonathan felt bad. He wasn’t sure Andrew would ever understand why he was making this decision. “I just think it’ll be good for me to live like a regular person for a while.”

“Okay.”

“Are you mad at me?” Jonathan asked.

Andrew shrugged. “I don’t think so. I’m just worried about you.”

“Don’t be,” Jonathan promised him. “I am feeling better than I have in weeks. And finally saying it out loud that I’m not coming back to work makes me feel like there isn’t an elephant sitting on my chest.”

“Okay.” Andrew wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “That’s good.” He smiled slightly. “You and Dennis were a cute couple.”

Jonathan scrunched his face up slightly. “We weren’t a couple,” he protested. “And we weren’t cute! All we ever did was hang out and talk about sci-fi.”

“Yeah, but it was obvious he liked you a lot. I figured it was just a friendship thing, though. I didn’t know it was about sex too,” Andrew said. “Were you in love?”

Jonathan shook his head, the blush returning. “No… I mean, I don’t think so? How would I know?”

Andrew’s smile turned sad for a moment. “Maybe you wouldn’t. Isn’t it possible to be in love with someone and not realise until it was too late? Or even after then?”

“Probably,” Jonathan said warily. He didn’t want to bring back memories he had thought were buried six months ago. “I don’t think we were in love, though. It wasn’t like it could be a long-term relationship, right? I’m alive and he was dead already. He didn’t have a physical body. Kinda made all the sex really one-sided.”

“Well,” Andrew said after a long pause, mulling over Jonathan’s words. “At least you made each other happy.”

“Did we?” Jonathan wondered. “I mean, I know he made me happy, but what I’m asking is… was it obvious?”

Andrew nodded rapidly. “Yes. Absolutely.”

“Huh.” Jonathan leaned back into the couch, wondering if the others had noticed, somehow. “Oh! Andrew, um, please don’t tell anyone about me and Dennis. Not even Cordy.”

Andrew mimed zipping up his lips and throwing away the key. “My lips are sealed.”

“Thanks.” Jonathan stood up. “I’m gonna go back to setting up my room. Let me know if you need anything.”

Back in his room, Jonathan leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor. He felt drained again. Jonathan reached for a box, but stopped. He couldn’t do it. He’d made huge strides today. Surely that meant it was okay to backslide just a little and reward himself by going to bed and not leaving it until tomorrow morning. Start fresh and hopefully more energized.

Bed, rest, start again tomorrow. Take this new resolve one day at a time.

For the first time in weeks, when Jonathan crawled into bed it wasn’t in defeat but in hope.


	30. Chapter 30

Jonathan walked into the Hyperion with a feeling of trepidation mixed with relief. In his hand, he clutched a manila folder with several pieces of paper. Gunn and Cordelia were the only ones hanging out in the lobby, and when they saw him enter they both greeted him with strained smiles.

“Andrew already told us you’re quitting,” Cordelia informed him. Jonathan winced at the sharp sting the word “quitting” evoked in his chest. Like he was giving up, rather than moving on.

He slid one of the papers out of the folder. “I came to make it official. Is Angel around?”

“Office.” Cordelia stood up and led Jonathan into the office, where Angel was poring over a book. Gunn waved at Jonathan as he passed but didn’t say anything. Jonathan’s heart hammered in his chest. Even though he knew this was the right decision, he was nervous about what Angel might say.

Angel, however, just smiled. “Jonathan. Nice to see you.” His eyes fell on the paper being slowly mangled in Jonathan’s tight fist. “Is that what I think it is?”

Jonathan nodded. He was acutely aware that Cordelia had not left the office, but was standing by the door with her arms crossed over her chest. “I, um, I’m sorry I haven’t been in for a while. But here’s my official resignation.” He handed it over the large desk, his hand trembling in stark contrast to Angel’s steadiness.

_ February 4, 2003 _

_ To Whom It May Concern: _

_ I, Jonathan Levinson, hereby tender my resignation from Angel Investigations, effective immediately. Due to reasons of a personal nature, I can no longer hold my position of researcher and private investigator with the firm. _

_ Thank you for every opportunity that has been given to me during my tenure with Angel Investigations. If you are amenable, I would be happy to continue in a consultation position, providing my expertise in a much reduced fashion. _

_ Please let me know if I can be of assistance now or in the future. _

_ Sincerely, _

And then his signature. It barely covered half the page, but the resignations he had seen on the internet had all been short and to the point. They all seemed to follow the same format, which Jonathan had recreated to the best of his ability. Angel read the letter over twice before nodding and setting it aside.

“We’ve missed you around here, and we’re sorry to see you go,” he said.

It was so...normal. It was such an ordinary, trite, bosslike thing to say that Jonathan nearly laughed. “I’ll miss this place too,” he admitted.

“What are your plans for work? You can put me down as a reference,” Angel said earnestly. Behind Jonathan, Cordelia let out an undignified snort and finally left them alone.

Jonathan opened up the manila folder and showed Angel the twenty resumes he had printed off along with his letter of resignation. The resume was meager in experience, but he made up for that with plenty of references - satisfied clients and his now-former co-workers. “I’ll just walk around our neighbourhood a bit and see if anyone’s hiring. If nothing pans out, I’ll see what’s out further away, but having to share the car with Andrew means it’d be easier if I can walk to work. There’s a comic book shop I walked to recently that might be hiring.”

Angel smiled tightly at him. “That sounds right up your alley.”

There was an awkward pause. Neither of them were any good with sentiment, but the moment felt like it needed some sort of acknowledgement. “Thanks for, you know...everything.”

“No problem,” Angel assured him. “You’re welcome to come back any time, even just for a visit or lunch or something.”

“Thanks. And, uh, I was serious about being a consultant,” Jonathan said.

Angel nodded. “We’ll take you up on it.”

“Okay….Cool. I should probably get going.”

“Okay. See you.”

“Yeah.”

Jonathan pulled open the office door and stopped short. The rest of the team had gathered around and were waiting for him in the lobby. “We wanted to say goodbye,” Fred explained. “We’d have made a banner if we knew you were coming in today.”

Jonathan blinked, baffled. “You...you do realise I’m not leaving forever, right?” he said. “You can come visit me at the apartment anytime?”

“Yeah, but it’s the end of an era,” Andrew exclaimed. “The era of Jonathan working at Angel Investigations.”

“I’m not sure six months counts as an era,” Jonathan mumbled, blushing. “I, uh, should get going.”

Fred came up to him and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tight. When she pulled away, she smiled. “Whatever your next job is, you’re going to be amazing.”

Jonathan Levinson, the most amazing movie ticket collector ever to walk the earth - yup, that was him. Still, he gave Fred a crooked smile. “Thanks.”

One by one the rest of the team stepped forward and hugged Jonathan goodbye. Each hug had a different vibe - from Lorne’s comforting squeeze to Gunn’s macho back-thumping. When lastly it was Cordelia’s turn, she gave him a suspicious look.

“All cool?” she asked.

Jonathan nodded. “All cool.”

Cordelia grinned. “Good.” When she pulled him into her embrace, she whispered, “Good luck.” Jonathan felt like he had been granted a special blessing.

Cordelia stepped away and Andrew practically tackled Jonathan, who stumbled back a couple of steps before he regained his balance. “Oof! Dude, you’re going to see me tonight.”

“I know,” Andrew said, his voice muffled by Jonathan’s shoulder. “This is also the end of an even bigger era of us working together.”

Jonathan’s shoulders relaxed as he realised that was true. He hadn’t thought about that before. He and Andrew had each other’s backs for so long. They still would, of course, but it was different now. But hadn’t it been different already these last two months? “Yeah. But the end of one era means the beginning of a new one, right? Like how to get Roger Moore as Bond we had to let go of Connery.”

Andrew sniffled. “I guess so.” He drew back, and Jonathan looked at his former teammates once more.

“Well, um. See you around.”

As he walked out, he imagined Boston’s “Don’t Look Back” played in the background like his own personal movie soundtrack.

\---

It was one thing to make a plan in his head to wander the streets dropping off his resume with anyone who might be hiring, but quite another altogether to actually do it. He didn’t know what kind of job he wanted - anything would do. The only thing he was experienced in was being a theater usher, but he didn’t want to do that sort of job again unless he had no other choice. There were plenty of restaurants, but they were mostly hole-in-the-wall mom and pop type places that didn’t hire outside the family.

He hopped on a bus and headed for the comic book store where he had bought Andrew’s Solo figurine. There, the kid behind the counter told him that they didn’t have any openings at the moment but they’d be glad to keep his resume on file. Jonathan left it with him, a niggling feeling in the back of his head that he would never hear from them again.

He stopped in a few more shops, inquiring after openings. He had some luck, filling out a couple of applications with clothing shops. There was also an optometrist hiring for sales clerks, but after a moment of looking at the sales clerks on staff, Jonathan realised they all wore glasses. He didn’t, so he ended up subtly easing his application back on the desk without filling it out. He probably wouldn’t have been discriminated against for not wearing glasses, but he would feel silly being the only non-bespectacled person on staff.

About half a mile from the comic book store, heading west, Jonathan spotted a large building looming. It looked like a hospital, and as he drew closer he saw that it was. Not the same hospital Jonathan or Gunn had been treated at (sometimes it felt like hospitals were a dime a dozen in L.A.) but a large place buzzing with people and cars and ambulances. It took up two full city blocks, the separate buildings connected by a walkway high above the street.

Jonathan paused, staring at the building. Working at a hospital would be helping people in need without being directly involved with their well-being. And the last time he had been in the hospital to visit Gunn he had been delighted with how smoothly things seemed to flow. Didn’t hospitals employ non-medical staff for, like, admin and orderly stuff or to work in the gift shop? Who would he even talk to about potential open positions?

He approached the building carefully, as if someone might jump out of the bushes and demand to know what business he had there. Large letters above the main entrance announced it as Good Samaritan Hospital, and he found a directory just outside the front doors. This hospital boasted everything from ER services and surgery, to psychiatry, ophthalmology, and a dozen other services. Trembling just slightly, Jonathan stepped through the automatic doors and made a beeline for the receptionist desk.

The main receptionist was already talking to someone, but another person - a nurse, maybe? - spotted Jonathan hovering and waved him up to the counter. “How can we help?”

“I was just wondering about, um, job openings? In a non-medical capacity, like… anything that might be open, I guess?” Jonathan said. He wished he had come in a little more prepared. “Orderly positions?”

The woman looked him over critically. “Can you lift patients out of bed and push them in wheelchairs for eight hours every day?”

Jonathan straightened his back. He knew he looked like a strong wind could knock him down right now, but he was still strong, and he would get stronger when he got back to work. “Yes.”

“Clean up blood? Vomit? Urine, feces, and whatever else our patients manage to excrete?”

Jonathan didn’t even flinch. He’d been doused in demon entrails too many times to be grossed out by a little vomit. “Easily.”

The nurse smiled at him. “Then you’ll fit right in. We do have a couple orderly positions open.” She handed him a clipboard. “Fill this out. Do you have a resume?”

Jonathan fumbled his folder open and produced one of the resumes.

“Turn it in with the application,” she instructed him, then turned back to her work.

Jonathan edged over to the waiting area and sat down. The application was pretty standard, not unlike the ones he had been filling out all afternoon. There were some differences: asking about the applicant’s physical capabilities, and warning that he would have to submit to a drug test and background check if he was hired. Jonathan answered all the questions as neatly as he could, then returned to the front desk. The nurse he spoke with earlier was gone, but the receptionist was glad to take his application and resume. Her eyes barely flickered at the paperwork. “I’ll make sure this gets to the right people,” she assured him. “We’ll be in contact if we want an interview.”

“Thanks,” Jonathan said, and fled as fast as he could without making it obvious his heart was pounding and he felt a little dizzy.

\---

The next few days passed in a blur. Jonathan continued to hand out resumes and fill in applications. He began receiving calls from stores - some to set up interviews, others to gather more information before politely informing Jonathan they would let him know if they were interested. He tried not to let the detached tones of the people he spoke to discourage him. The day before his first interview, he squeezed his eyes shut, picked up the phone, and dialled a number from memory.

“Angel Investigations; we help the hopeless!”

“Cordy, it’s Jonathan,” he said hesitantly. “I, uh… need your help. I need to go...shopping.”

“I’ll be right there,” Cordelia said, slamming down the receiver before Jonathan could say anything further.

She pulled up in the Plymouth ten minutes later, looking just as stylish as ever. Jonathan wondered if he’d made a mistake recruiting her. The original plan was for Cordy to bring Andrew along with her, to ease the awkwardness, but she had hung up before he could explain that part and apparently she hadn’t thought to bring him along herself. Jonathan swallowed hard.

“Hey,” he greeted her nervously. “I just need some interview clothes and figured you’d be the best bet at helping me pick out something that looks good but doesn’t cost too much.”

Cordelia raised a finger at him. “Don’t think of your interview clothes - or any clothes for that matter - as an expenditure. They’re an investment. You’ll want to spend a little more than you might normally because these are going to be the clothes that get you a job.”

“Please don’t make me spend $50.00 on a pair of slacks,” Jonathan said. “My interviews are for retail jobs, not office jobs or anything super classy.” He climbed into the Plymouth’s passenger seat. The top was down, letting in the cool winter air. He couldn’t believe February was already halfway over and they were fast speeding towards March.

“Rule number one,” Cordelia said as she started up the car. “Dress for the job you want, not the job you’re applying for.”

“What if I don’t know what job I want?” Jonathan asked. “Show up in Starfleet uniform?”

“Ha, ha, double ha. The job you want is one that pays enough for you to be able to live in Los Angeles - which is no easy thing,” Cordelia said. “Don’t worry about cost, though. I found out Angel’s been using my credit card, so he foots the bill now. These clothes are on him.”

Jonathan blushed. “You don’t have to do that,” he insisted. “I can pay for them, I just don’t want to pay more than I have to.”

Cordelia shrugged. “Consider it a farewell gift from the team. I don’t really understand why you quit, but that was your decision and I’ll respect it. At least you’re out of the house.”

“Yeah,” Jonathan agreed quietly, staring at the city streets flying by as Cordelia sped through them. “It’s been good getting back on my feet again.”

Cordelia glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “Should we talk about it?”

Jonathan shook his head quickly. “I’d rather not. We both acted like assholes. Let’s just forget about it.”

“Deal.” She reached for the dashboard and cranked up the volume on some pop hit Jonathan had never heard before.

When the car finally pulled to a stop, they were parked in a rather posh part of town. Jonathan felt wildly out of place in his too-big jeans and ratty t-shirt, especially standing next to cool and glamorous Cordelia.

He trailed her from store to store, watching as she eyed the merchandise critically. Shirts, slacks, shoes, accessories. She wanted to get him a blazer too, but that was where he drew the line. Who wore a blazer to an interview at a comic book shop?

Jonathan wasn’t sure what she was looking for that none of the stores they had gone to thus far couldn’t provide. Was it the quality of the material? The exactly right shade of white button-down? All he knew is that he was growing bored and tired the longer she flipped through rack after rack without making any decisions and then whisking Jonathan out of the store and on to the next.

At last, Jonathan was shaken out of a daydream where he was Anywhere But Here by Cordelia clapping her hands briskly. “Got it. This place is perfect. Come here.”

Jonathan obediently stepped up and Cordelia began holding up various shirts to his chest. It was like when he would go back-to-school shopping with his mom, except this was a lot weirder. Like he was Cordelia’s personal, oversized Ken doll.

“These three shirts, these pants. Go try them on.”

He accepted the items with fumbling hands as the waiting attendant ushered him into one of the dressing rooms. The shirts were crisp and sturdy: one midnight blue, one grey-blue, and one shining white. There were also two pairs of pants: black and dark grey. The shirts fit a little loosely, which was fine; he could tuck them in tight and the extra room meant they would still fit if he gained a little weight. His eating habits, while still a little erratic, were becoming more regular and he no longer looked like he was starving himself. When he put on the clothes, he actually looked like a regular person again. He looked in the mirror and almost didn’t recognise himself - in a good way. He looked more like the person he had been back in Sunnydale, albeit just a little snazzier. He adjusted the pants, which were also a little loose but nothing a belt wouldn’t fix. The legs were slightly too long, but that was something Jonathan had been dealing with his whole life. He knew a few tricks to hide the extra length.

A few minutes later, he exited the dressing room, clothes draped over his arm. “They were all a little loose, but I figured that was intentional,” he told Cordelia. “They all looked nice. I don’t know which one to pick.”

“All of them,” Cordelia told him, sounding scandalized. “Come on - you still need shoes, undershirts, a watch, and a couple ties. And then we stop at a tailor.”

“Wha - Cordy, no,” he protested. “I can’t - that’s too much. These shirts alone are -”

She snatched the clothes out of his hands before he could fumble for the price tag. “Don’t worry about it,” she insisted. “I’m a big girl and I can decide for myself what to spend Angel’s money on. Just say ‘thank you’ and move on.”

Jonathan glared at her, but he really was extremely grateful… and a little guilty. What if the clothes didn’t fit six months from now? He would have wasted all that money on a few job interviews. “Thank you, Cordy. But a tailor is just too much, I really don’t -”

“You’re welcome,” Cordelia interrupted, flashing him a big smile.

By the time they returned to the Plymouth several hours later, Jonathan was laden down with bags. Cordelia had picked out a few things for herself as well, but the majority of the day was dedicated to practically doubling Jonathan’s wardrobe. Apart from the shirts and slacks - tailored to fit his lean body and could be let out when he put on weight - he now owned a nice pair of dress shoes that did not pinch his feet, two ties, undershirts, a belt, and a nice-looking watch. Cordelia wanted him to change into some of his new clothes so she could take him to the hotel and show him off, but he demurred. He was exhausted, and his head was starting to pound. But there was one last thing they needed to do.

“Thanks for everything,” Jonathan said sincerely. “I can’t even begin to express how grateful I am. Your support means a lot. Um, do you wanna grab dinner? My treat.”

Cordelia’s eyes lit up. “Will you wear your new clothes?”

This may have backfired. He wanted to splurge a little because of how generous Cordelia had been, but if she took him somewhere fancy, he wasn’t sure he could afford it. His financial situation was a bit up in the air at the moment. “Um, okay. I’ll need to get changed. Where do you want to go?”

“I know this restaurant in Central L.A. that is nice without being crazy-expensive and no reservations needed.” She gave him a playfully seductive look. “Shall we?”

Jonathan smiled. “Okay.”

Cordelia turned her back while Jonathan hopped into the back seat and wiggled into the blue-grey shirt and black slacks. He didn’t bother with a tie, and left the top few buttons of the shirt undone for an air of casual finery. He slid his new shoes on and laced them up tight. His hair was a mess, but there was nothing he could do about it right now. Fully dressed, he climbed back into the front seat and tapped on the glass to let Cordelia know he was ready. She lowered the car’s roof back down before climbing into the driver’s seat.

It turned out that what Cordelia deemed “not crazy-expensive” was still a little more than Jonathan would have liked to spend on a meal. Fortunately, he had been prepared for a shopping excursion, so he had more cash on him than usual. His eyes automatically scanned for the cheapest things on the menu and picked out something that didn’t make it obvious he was trying to skimp. The waiter took their order and promised to come back with their appetizer shortly.

Silence descended upon the table, causing Jonathan to shift uncomfortably. All day they had been comfortably chatting (or to be more precise, Cordelia chatted while Jonathan listened) but now there was the intimacy of being face-to-face across a small table. With a start, Jonathan realised people might assume they were on a date. He blushed.

“Where’s your interview tomorrow?”

Jonathan fiddled with his napkin. “A florist’s. The owner gave me a weird look when I said I was looking for a job. I don’t think they get many male applicants. But I know enough about plants that I guess it wouldn’t be that hard to arrange them, right?”

Cordelia raised her eyebrows. “You do know that the flowers have to  _ look _ nice together, not be arranged by magical properties, right?”

Jonathan made a face at her. “ _ Yes _ I know that. I just figured at least I’d be working with something I have some experience with, even if it’s not the normal experience a florist would have.”

“Well, good luck.” Cordelia raised her glass and Jonathan tapped it quickly with his own, accepting the cheers.

\---

The interview ended up being a disaster. Part of the process involved actually making an arrangement of the owner’s choice, and she wanted him to put together a nice wedding bouquet. Cordelia’s words still fresh in his mind, Jonathan scrambled around for flowers that promoted unity and peace, which the owner grudgingly noted as innovative, but she was clearly not happy with the clashing colours.

“I’ll let you know,” she said with a tight-lipped smile.

Jonathan wandered home in his stiff new clothes, a heavy sense of dread starting to crowd into his thoughts. The familiar mantras of “you fuck everything up” and “so useless why don’t you just step in front of that speeding car?” began to play in his head. He couldn’t even arrange flowers properly.

_ Well it’s not like anyone else from Angel Investigations could do any better _ , a kinder part of his mind argued.

True, but Jonathan worked with plants more than most of the others. Surely that meant he should somehow be able to arrange them into pretty patterns.

By the time he got home, he was a scowling, unhappy mess. Andrew wasn’t home yet, but there was a message blinking on the answering machine. Jonathan jabbed the Play button with more force than was strictly necessary.

_ “Hello, this message is for Jonathan Levinson. My name is Peter and I’m calling from Pat’s Bagels about the application you turned in. We would love to have you in for an interview. Please give me a call back at -” _

Jonathan played the message three times, trying to figure out if he should bother calling them back to arrange the interview or not. He wrote down the number and glared at it. He would probably just fuck this up too. After a few minutes, almost of their own accord, his hands picked up the receiver and started to dial.

The next couple of weeks passed in a blur of putting out more applications and setting up more interviews. For every ten resumes he handed over or applications he filled out, he got maybe two interviews. His radius grew wider and wider. There were some very promising prospects (the interviewers sounded like they really liked him and were pleased with how he had answered their questions) but they still had a few more people to see, they told him. “We’ll be in touch” was repeated more often than any other phrase.

Andrew was constantly supportive, keeping track of which days Jonathan had interviews and then asking how they went when they next saw each other. He diligently wrote down messages for Jonathan and baked consolation cookies on particularly bad days.

Just over two weeks after that first disastrous interview, Andrew was in the kitchen cooking dinner while Jonathan showered after yet another interview, this time for a tiny bookstore. He was just washing off the smell of dusty paper and old leather when Andrew knocked sharply on the door. 

“What?” Jonathan called over the water.

“The hospital’s on the phone,” Andrew replied. “They want to speak to you. Do you think someone’s been hurt? Everyone was fine when I left work.”

Jonathan shut off the water and grabbed his towel, his mind whirling. He opened the bathroom door to accept the phone from Andrew.

“Hello?”

“Jonathan Levinson?”

“This is he.”

“This is Doctor Sora Gearhart, from Good Samaritan, how are you today?”

Jonathan swallowed. He’d had an interview with Sora two - no, three days ago. She had promised to be in touch, but he figured she was one of those he would never hear from again. The interview questions had been simple enough, but the way her eyes frowned ever so slightly when she saw Jonathan’s small build left him certain that she didn’t think he’d be up to the physical demands of the job. “I’m fine, thanks. How are you?”

“Good, good. So we’ve finished our interviews and think you are an ideal candidate for one of our orderly positions if you are still available.”

Jonathan couldn’t believe his ears. Had he misheard? “I’ve got the job?”

Sora chuckled. “If you still want it, yes.”

“Yes!” Jonathan’s eyes widened. “I mean, yes, please. That… yes, thank you.”

“Great! We were really impressed with the work you’ve done for this...Angel Investigations. Plus Angel gave you a glowing recommendation. We’d like to get you started next Monday, set up the training. To start with, you’ll be working nine to five, but that’ll change once you get into the swing of things.”

Jonathan dashed into the living room and grabbed the first pen and scrap of paper he could find. “Okay. Where should I report to Monday morning?”

“The east entrance reception desk. I’ll be there to meet you, but I won’t be the one training you. That’ll be Stephen.”

“Okay.” He wrote down “Stephen = training” along with the day and time of his first shift.

“I think that should cover it for now. We talked about starting salary and duties during the interview, but do you have any questions about any of that?”

“N-not at the moment,” Jonathan said. He couldn’t even remember what they had said for salary, but whatever it was was better than nothing.

“Perfect. If anything comes up or you do have any questions, feel free to give me a ring. My direct extension is 7763.”

Jonathan wrote that down too. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. “Thank you so much.”

“We’re glad to have you on board, Jonathan. I’ll see you Monday.”

“Monday,” Jonathan repeated. “‘Bye.”

Andrew was hovering nearby when Jonathan hung up the receiver. “What was that?” he asked.

“I got a job at the hospital,” Jonathan told him faintly. “They hired me to be an orderly.”

Andrew shrieked loud enough to startle Data out of his nap. “CONGRATULATIONS!” he squealed, grabbing Jonathan’s hands and bouncing up and down. “Spaghetti bolognese isn’t good enough for this level of news. We have to celebrate!”

Jonathan shook his head, then laughed. “Spaghetti bolognese is fine. But if you want to go get ice cream afterwards, it’s my treat.”

_ Don’t fuck this up _ , the nasty voice in the back of his head snarled.  _ People’s lives are going to be in your hands again _ .

Cleaning up vomit was hardly going to be a life-or-death job, he reminded himself sternly. One day at a time - you can do this.

He desperately hoped that was true.


	31. Chapter 31

Jonathan did not know what to expect on his first day of work. He set his alarm for 6 AM just in case he needed extra time to force himself out of bed. He might as well not have bothered - he barely slept a wink. He felt wired, almost jazzed, like the last two months of sleeping pretty much constantly had left him with enough energy to stay awake for a full week.

Nevertheless, when his alarm went off his body protested the idea of getting up so early. Mornings had been the bane of his existence ever since he was a young teenager and now he was  _ voluntarily _ getting up much earlier than he needed to. At 6:25 he rolled out of bed and wandered to the bathroom.

Figuring out what to wear took more time than it should have. Should he wear clothes that could stand to get dirty or his new slacks and a nice button-down? Should he have bought scrubs? Would scrubs be provided? Sora hadn’t said. He compromised by selecting one of the new shirts, an undershirt in case he needed to get dirty, and the nicest pair of jeans he owned. He combed his hair carefully; yesterday, he had gone to the cheapest barber he could find and gotten a simple haircut, glad to get rid of the shaggy locks that had taken over during his depression.

Jonathan opened his door at the same time Andrew stumbled sleepily from the bathroom, clothes hastily thrown on. “Mornin’,” Andrew mumbled. “Breakfast?”

Jonathan’s stomach had been temporarily taken over by what felt like a whole atrium’s worth of butterflies. He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

Andrew frowned. “You should eat something. You don’t want to faint on your first day.”

Jonathan scowled at him. “When have I ever fainted from not eating?”

Andrew shifted uncertainly. “Welllll never that I know of. But there’s a first time for everything.”

“I’ll take a powerbar with me,” Jonathan promised. “Could do with some coffee, though.”

Andrew did not look very happy with that, but he relented. He insisted on making the coffee for Jonathan, who watched with bemused appreciation.

“What time are you heading to the hotel?” Jonathan asked him.

“I hadn’t decided yet,” Andrew said as he fiddled with his bowl of cereal. “I thought I could drop you off at the hospital on my way.”

Jonathan grinned at him. “I thought the same thing. You did a mind-meld.”

Andrew beamed back. “You shouldn’t show up to your first day of work all sweaty and dishevelled.”

Jonathan snorted. “I’m pretty sure that’s exactly how we showed up on our first day with Angel Investigations.”

Andrew glanced at the clock. It read 7:34. “What time do you want to leave?”

Jonathan shrugged. “I have no idea how bad traffic’s gonna be. Plus I should try to get there early. How about 8:30? 8:25?”

Andrew’s head perked up. “Do you wanna watch something to pass the time?”

“Next Gen,” Jonathan said immediately. If anything would get him calm, it was that. “Anything from Season Six.”

By the time they left - a little bit later than Jonathan would have liked - he felt a little steadier. He even managed to shove a powerbar into his mouth as he walked out the door. In spite of every worst-case scenario Jonathan’s mind conjured about traffic and other disasters (sudden earthquakes, alien invasion), Andrew pulled up to the hospital’s main entrance ten minutes before nine.

“Good luck!” Andrew called as Jonathan stepped out of the car.

“Thanks. I’ll see you at home tonight,” Jonathan said.

Sitting at the reception desk was the same person who had been there when Jonathan came in for his interview. She recognised Jonathan right away and greeted him with a cheerful “Welcome aboard.”

“Thanks,” Jonathan said weakly. “I think I’m a little early.”

“Doctor Sora will be here momentarily,” the receptionist assured him. Jonathan couldn’t remember her name for the life of him. “You can take a seat if you want.”

“I’d rather stand, thanks,” Jonathan mumbled. There was another nicely dressed young man, with a decidedly sturdier build, waiting nearby. His eyes seemed to look right through Jonathan as if he wasn’t even there.

Jonathan glanced at his shiny new watch. Seven minutes to nine. He shuffled out of the way of an orderly pushing an middle-aged man in a wheelchair. The man looked like he had seen better days; though there were no obvious signs of injury, the man drooped in his chair and didn’t acknowledge any of the orderly’s attempts at conversation.  _ Just let him have his silence _ , Jonathan wanted to tell the orderly.

“Jonathan? Todd? You guys ready?” Doctor Gearhart - known by her colleagues and staff as Doctor Sora or just Sora, as she had told him during his interview - had arrived and was gesturing for Jonathan and the nicely dressed young man to join her at the reception desk. “Welcome to the team. I’ll be getting your paperwork in order and then turning you over to Stephen for your training. The first day will be all about getting you set up - security badges and login information, taking a tour of the facilities, going over your daily tasks, getting scrubs, lockers, and some informational videos about patient safety and dos and don’ts of your job. If you don’t get to all of it today, don’t worry. You’ll be spending the week with Stephen, getting to know the facilities. Next week you’ll be shadowing with a seasoned orderly, and then after that we throw you to the wolves. Got it?”

She spoke at a clipped pace, befitting of a Hospital Director who was used to talking to colleagues at a mile a minute. As she spoke, she also pulled out forms and organised them neatly on two clipboards, which she handed over to Jonathan and Todd. “Take lots of notes. And don’t worry - you’ll definitely get lost several times your first couple of weeks. Don’t be afraid to ask for directions. Right this way.”

As they walked, Jonathan rifled through the pages on the clipboard while also listening to Doctor Sora give a brief history of the hospital and the sort of services they rendered. Most of it was typical employment stuff - W2 forms and emergency contacts - but some of it was hospital-specific, including a small map of the different departments.

The first day as a hospital orderly, Jonathan was pumped full of so much information he thought his head might burst. They went through everything Doctor Sora had mentioned at the beginning and then some. By lunch, Jonathan didn’t feel nervous anymore because he was too busy feeling like an overinflated balloon.

“You get used to it,” Stephen assured him and Todd, who looked just as overwrought as Jonathan felt. Stephen was a tall and solid man with lightly tanned skin and a cheerful smile. Jonathan guessed he must be in his early forties and had been with the hospital for a long time. Part of his duties included training the new hires and getting them on their feet. He was a good choice for the job, knowledgeable and kind.

At half past noon, Stephen stretched his long arms. “Let’s break for lunch. C’mon, I’ll show you the cafeteria. Did either of you bring lunch?”

Jonathan had scarfed down his powerbar at the mid-morning break and now his stomach was begging for more food. “No,” he told Stephen. Todd also shook his head.

“Excellent. That means I get to introduce you to the wonders of hospital food,” Stephen joked. “Afterwards, we’ll check in with Doctor Sora and go on the magical tour, walk off all those calories we’re about to pump in.”

Jonathan barely noticed what he ate. Whether it was good or not, he couldn’t have said. He just knew that he was hungry and it looked edible. Afterwards, the tour of the facilities was a dizzying, confounding mess of information. Floors, wards, departments, corridors: they all jumbled together in Jonathan’s mind. Todd looked just as lost as Jonathan felt. They were greeted by orderlies, nurses, receptionists alike. The doctors mostly hurried by them, but a few residents nodded politely.

The patients themselves were the most fascinating aspect of the tour for Jonathan. They saw everyone from newborn babies to elderly men and women being treated for a variety of ailments. There were people barely clinging to life and others who Jonathan couldn’t have said what was wrong with them. Diseases and ailments of every sort, mental and physical, passed through the doors of this hospital. It was Jonathan’s job now to help make sure the patients got the best care possible care and clean accommodations.

At noon, Jonathan was only 80% sure he could live up to his duties. By the time Stephen told them to clock out at 5:00, he was down to 65%. It was a lot for a person to take in.

But he was determined to stick it out, at least for a while.

\---

That evening, Jonathan called his parents. He had held off letting them know about the job offer until he was sure he could go through with it, but now he decided he needed their reassurance and guidance. He had diligently been calling them once a week, sometimes not saying a single word and other times hesitantly engaging in conversation.

His mother picked up on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Hi, Mom,” Jonathan said. He was tired, and the words were difficult to form, but it was good to hear her voice. “I’ve got good news.”

“What is it, sweetie?” His mom sounded like she was in high spirits.

He told her about the hospital job. He thought he wouldn’t be able to say much, but once he got going he spilled everything he could think of: how intense it seemed, how chaotic the ER was and how calm the infant nursery was, how the psychiatry ward scared him a little bit, how friendly the staff was in spite of the long hours and grueling work. His hopes and insecurities.

When he finished, there was a short pause as she waited for more. There wasn’t anything left. Jonathan closed his eyes and waited silently for her to say something.

“I’m glad you’re getting back on your feet, Jonathan,” his mom said finally. “This is wonderful news. I know you’re nervous, but you’re going to do your best, just like you always do.”

Jonathan wasn’t sure he agreed with that assessment, but he didn’t say anything. What if his best wasn’t enough?

“It sounds like your first day went well enough,” she continued. “Take tomorrow as it comes and then the next day and the next. And if something happens, then you’ll deal with it and move on. Nobody’s perfect.”

“Yeah, but…” Jonathan trailed off. No, he wasn’t perfect but if he screwed up it could put someone’s health at risk.

“No buts, Mister,” his mom said sternly. “Don’t go giving up on yourself before you’ve even started. One day at a time, right?”

Jonathan sighed and squared his shoulders. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, knowing that she hated being called ma’am for how old it made her feel.

His mom tsked loudly at him. “I’d tell you to watch your mouth, but I guess poking fun at your poor mother is how you show you’re feeling better,” she bemoaned playfully.

Jonathan chuckled softly. “Thanks.”

His mom dropped the Jewish Guilt routine and turned serious once more. “I wish there was more I could do to help you, baby. You sure you don’t want to come back home for a while?”

“I’m sure,” Jonathan told her. “I’ll be fine.”

“Of course you will.” There was a clatter in the background, and some muffled words. After a moment, his mom returned to the line. “Your father just got home. Do you want to tell him the good news yourself?”

He should, but he was really tired. “No, can you tell him? I think I’m going to see what I can scrounge for dinner. Andrew’s not home yet and I don’t know when he will be.”

“Alright, baby. Take care. We love you.”

“Love you.”

\---

The rest of the week passed in a blur. On Tuesday, Jonathan reported for his shift in his brand-new (to him anyway) hospital-issued scrubs. Stephen led him and Todd through the remainder of their introduction information, then led them out onto the floor to find a couple of orderlies to shadow. Todd trouped off with Dianah, a sturdy-looking African-American woman in her early thirties. Jonathan was paired with a kindly, if a bit flustered man in his mid twenties whom Stephen introduced as Kelly.

Jonathan had been expecting another woman based on the name, and was startled by this man who was not unlike a male version of Fred. He was sweet with the patients, but had an air of distractability about him. He could talk for long minutes at a time, the topic going off on several tangents when all Jonathan wanted to know was if he could take his ten-minute break whenever he wanted or if he had to get permission from someone beforehand.

“Of course with the size of the hospital, it could take you ten minutes just to find the right person to ask, so just go ahead and take it when you can, but make sure you don’t do it when you’re supposed to be taking a patient to surgery,” Kelly concluded at last.

“Got it,” Jonathan said, relieved to have finally received an answer. Although that stuff about bananas had certainly been interesting, it was completely irrelevant to the needs of Jonathan’s bladder. He was about to ask how long Kelly had been an orderly when a nurse flagged them down.

“You’re needed in isolation. Johnny’s on the fritz again and dumped half his lunch on the floor.”

“On purpose or by accident this time?” Kelly inquired jovially as if either one was an amusing thought. “By the way, I’ve got a shadow today. Should he be coming into isolation?”

The nurse surveyed Jonathan critically. “Probably not just yet. We’ll save that for some other time. What’s your name?”

“Jonathan Levinson,” Jonathan answered automatically. He’d introduced himself to so many people in the last two days that it was dizzying.

“Jonathan, come with me. Mr. Parker wants someone to sit with him for a while. He’s got surgery this afternoon and is feeling a little nervous.”

Jonathan frowned but followed the nurse obediently. Nobody had said anything about just  _ sitting  _ with patients. What was he supposed to do? He guess that would depend on what Mr. Parker wanted him to do, but what if he was crotchety or didn’t like Jonathan for some reason. “Is this something orderlies usually do?”

The nurse shrugged. His name tag announced him as Diego. “Not always, but since you’re not doing anything else at the moment it’s fine. Sometimes you can sit with a patient if they need it for whatever reason. I mean, of course sometimes you’ll be feeding patients or helping them to the bathroom, that sort of thing.”

Diego led him into the oncology ward, and Jonathan felt a shiver run through his spine. There was something about the cancer patients that was chilling. They all looked so tired and worn down, even the ones that were optimistic about their prognoses. The room Diego brought him to was a private one, with an older gentleman hooked up to several machines. He had a full head of pure white hair, which surprised Jonathan; the only image he ever knew of cancer patients was a radiation-induced baldness.

“Mr. Parker, this is Jonathan,” Diego said. “He’s going to sit with you for a few minutes. He’s a newbie, so go easy on him.” Diego flashed Jonathan a grin before leaving the room.

Jonathan hovered nervously by the door. Mr. Parker peered at him suspiciously. “Newbie, huh? You a nurse?”

“No.” Jonathan came a little closer and perched on the edge of the chair next to Mr. Parker’s bed. “I’m an orderly. Well, orderly-in-training, I suppose. The person I was helping had to go into isolation, so they brought me in here.”

“Ah, they felt bad for me, so they sent me a puppy to play with,” Mr. Parker said. It was hard to tell if he meant it to be an insult. “I’m not long for this world, you know.”

Jonathan didn’t know what to say to that. “What are you going into surgery for?”

“I got a tumor on my gallbladder,” Mr. Parker said. He spoke with a slightly countrified accent. “They says they caught it early enough it can be removed completely by surgery. But cancer’s a tricky thing, see. It can spread and you won’t even know and next thing you’re back in the hospital and for good this time. ‘Specially for an old man like me.”

“You don’t look that old to me,” Jonathan told him.

Mr. Parker smiled wryly at him. “I’ll be eighty this year. If I live to see my birthday, that is.”

Jonathan shifted uncomfortably on his chair. “I think you will.”

Mr. Parker snorted. “Are you a fortune teller as well as a puppy? Hey, ain’t you s’posed to be making me not think about my untimely end? Howsabout you read me a book?”

Jonathan latched onto this change in subject. “Sure. What do you have?”

Mr. Parker, it turned out, was a huge history enthusiast, and had a small pile of tattered books on American wars on his bedside table. “I fought in two of ‘em,” he announced proudly as Jonathan shifted through the books. “World War II and Korea. Army. My daddy fought in The Great War. Least that’s what they called it then. He was in the Navy, though.”

Jonathan slid a thin volume out of the pile and started to read. This one was about World War II and Jonathan chose it partly to see if Mr. Parker had fought in any of the battles it mentioned. Mr. Parker, however, was content to sit back and just listen to Jonathan read and didn’t add any commentary.

Eventually Kelly returned. Jonathan glanced at the clock on the wall and realised he had spent nearly half an hour reading to Mr. Parker. It hadn’t felt like that long at all, he had gotten so caught up in the narrative.

“Hello there. Sorry to bother, but I should be whisking Jonathan away now. Maybe he can come back after your surgery,” Kelly told Mr. Parker.

“Eh, go on an’ get outta here then,” Mr. Parker said. “Don’t you trouble yourself with an old coot like me.”

“I’ll see you later, Mr. Parker,” Jonathan promised him, ignoring his melodramatic demand.

“Had fun in there?” Kelly asked Jonathan as they left Mr. Parker’s room and headed down yet another hallway. Jonathan was slowly starting to figure out the hospital layout, but he still often got turned around.

“Yeah, he was really nice,” Jonathan said.

“He’s fine if you’re a history buff and like talking about wars and stuff.” Kelly shrugged. “Not really my thing. But he’s a nice guy, if a bit stubborn.”

Jonathan smiled slightly.

By the end of the week, Jonathan had gotten into something of a rhythm and was feeling a lot more confident about his abilities to take care of patients. Still, he was nervous when Doctor Sora told him that starting next week he’d be working solo. He would still get 9-5 shifts through his second week, but after that his schedule would start to fluctuate.

“Evening and night shifts aren’t as bad as they sound if you can keep yourself awake,” she assured him. “Day shift is definitely the busiest, though odder things tend to happen at night. You’ll get the hang of it.”

She also assured him that even though the majority of his upcoming week would be working by himself without a shadow, he would still be supervised. Jonathan and Kelly had worked on some reverse-shadowing (where Jonathan tended to the patients as Kelly made sure he was following proper procedure), so this reassured Jonathan that he would not be totally alone. Doctor Sora was insistent that if Jonathan had any questions at any time he must speak up. It was better to ask a lot of questions than to risk a patient getting hurt. Jonathan agreed wholeheartedly.

Truthfully, Jonathan wouldn’t mind the change in schedule. He was kind of hoping for the evening shift. He and Andrew could work out a rota for who got the car, since walking home past midnight wasn’t a great idea. Maybe Andrew could take the car to work and then drop it off on his way home if he wasn’t pulling a late night. They would figure something out.

Jonathan left the hospital, but instead of heading towards home, he jumped on a bus that would take him to the Hyperion. He was still wearing his scrubs, but they didn’t smell bad - for once, just a bit chemically. Working with Kelly, Jonathan had seen some of the worst things an orderly might come across. Part of him wondered if the nurses weren’t on the lookout for the nastiest jobs to give to the newbies to see if they would wash out. But as he had promised in his interview, blood and guts did not even make Jonathan flinch. Once you’ve worn a Nezzla skin draped over your own body, human excretions tend not to seem all that disgusting.

He stepped off the bus and walked the rest of the way to the hotel, his heart pounding. Angel was pacing the lobby, reading a book when Jonathan entered. Andrew sat behind the counter at Cordelia’s desk, messing about on her computer. Both men smiled and greeted Jonathan when they realised who had just walked in.

“How was your first week at the hospital?” Angel asked.

Jonathan told them all about it. Andrew had heard most of it already, but he still listened with rapt attention and interjected commentary occasionally as Jonathan told Angel about some of the people he had met and what duties he had.

“So next time a team member gets injured on the job, we should bring them to Good Samaritan?” Angel joked.

Jonathan winced. It wasn’t very funny, in his opinion. Angel had just reminded Jonathan that he had left his teammates to fend for themselves in an extremely perilous job. Granted, they had survived just fine before Jonathan came along, and people could get injured whether or not Jonathan was there to help, but it didn’t assuage Jonathan’s guilt. “Probably best not to,” Jonathan mumbled, trying to play along. “I can’t sneak you extra pudding cups.”

The others weren’t around at the moment. Gunn and Cordelia were on a small cleanup job, Fred and Wesley were picking up dinner, and Lorne was with a client up in his room. Angel dialled Fed’s cell phone and asked if she could add another meal onto their order.

Jonathan wandered around the lobby as he waited for the others to return. The place felt the same as it always did, and yet also incredibly different. For the first time in a long time, he saw it as an outsider might: the barely-faded sigil stains on the floor, the strange array of couches and chairs throughout the lobby, the grand staircase that suggested this place had once been a lot fancier than it currently was. Jonathan wondered suddenly what had possessed Angel to choose this as his new offices when his old ones got blown up. 

Jonathan sat in the chair he used to occupy when he worked here, and listened as Andrew told him about the day they’d had. The weirdness factor in L.A. had been ratcheting up a notch or two recently, and it kept them busy. Today had been relatively light, hence why Angel and Andrew were hanging around.

Eventually Lorne and his client appeared. Lorne accepted the demon’s payment before sending him away. “I tell you, that man needs a hobby. One that doesn’t involve animal evisceration, I mean. I guess - Oh, Jonathan! I didn’t see you there. What brings you to our neck of the urban jungle?”

Jonathan, who had been in the middle of a heated debate with Andrew about who would win in a fight, James Bond or Batman, grinned at him. “Just visiting.”

“Batman has Alfred,” Andrew countered.

“Bond has Q,” Angel pointed out helpfully.

“Thank you!” Jonathan cried. 

“Also, Robin,” Andrew interjected. “Bond doesn’t have a sidekick.” 

“We’re talking just man to man with their weapons,” Jonathan said. “No sidekicks, no suppliers -”

“Exactly What I’m saying! Q supplies all of Bond’s weapons,” Andrew said. “Batman gets his own weapons, he doesn’t have Alfred make them for him.”

“Bond’s come back as like ten different actors,” Jonathan said.

“So has Batman!”

“Do I even want to know what’s going on right now?” Lorne asked.

“Probably not,” Angel told him. “But I think Jonathan’s winning.”

At that moment, all thoughts of Batman vs Bond left their heads as Fred and Wesley returned with food. Gunn and Cordelia entered shortly after, looking a little ruffled but no worse for wear. Gunn moaned with happiness when he saw the food had arrived.

Everyone dug in; it felt almost just like old times again. Cordelia tsked at Jonathan’s decidedly unfashionable scrubs, but Fred protested that he looked handsome in them. Jonathan told them about old Mr. Parker and how his surgery had gone well and he was going to be sent home to recuperate. The doctors were confident they had eradicated the cancer and he would live for many more years to come.

“Can you imagine us growing old?” Gunn asked thoughtfully. “Wonder what that would be like. Kickin’ demon ass with a walker.”

Everyone chuckled but it was a sobering question. They worked in a very dangerous job. So far everyone here had been lucky, but how long would that luck hold out? Each of them had had one or two close calls. Would they live long enough to retire from Angel Investigations, and if so at what age did you become too old for demon hunting? After all, look at Mr. Giles.

“Do we get a friends and family discount off major surgeries?” Fred joked, bringing levity back to the group.

“No, but I might be able to hook you up with some nifty surgical masks,” Jonathan rejoined.

“You laugh, but that might actually come in handy,” Gunn muttered. “I don’t even want to think about how many demon entrails and vampire dust I’ve inhaled.”

The group chuckled. Jonathan stretched out in his chair, feeling relaxed and content. The only thing that would make this more perfect would be Data curled up at his side purring.

“It sounds like this job is good, then?” Wesley asked.

Jonathan nodded. “I like it. I like the staff and the patients, and the work really isn’t that bad or daunting. There’s a lot of mopping and a lot of pushing and carrying and lifting. It’s a little mindless, but I’ve been bringing books to read on my breaks. And the pay’s pretty good too. I was surprised how much an orderly makes in L.A.”

“You’ll let us know if you need anything, though,” Cordelia said firmly. It wasn’t a question or a request.

“Of course,” Jonathan assured her.

“Next time I end up in the hospital, I’m gonna request they send me to Good Samaritan,” Gunn said.

“I hope that doesn’t happen,” Jonathan said sincerely. “I mean, because I don’t want you getting hurt. Any of you.”

Gunn reached forward and tousled his hair. “Thanks, kid.”

When it became clear there wasn’t going to be any more emergency demon dispatching to do, Angel told a yawning Andrew and Jonathan to go home. It was nearly ten - where had the evening gone?

Jonathan drove them home, glad to be behind the wheel again. Data was ecstatic to see them, all but dragging Andrew to show him an empty food dish. Andrew refilled it with plenty of dry food, checked the water level, and wandered into the living room. “Wanna watch something?”

Jonathan had the next two days off and he planned to sleep in tomorrow, so why not stay up and veg a little? “Sounds good.”

Life was returning to normal. Something in the back of Jonathan’s mind wondered how long it could possibly stay like this before some new and crazy thing came their way.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is sexual content at the end of this chapter.

_ They tell him he gets to leave isolation soon. His immune system has reached a manageable level now and he can be around other patients, though at first he has to wear a surgical mask. That’s fine by him. Anything to get out of isolation.  _

_ The doctors can’t explain how he came to the hospital with no antibodies to speak of, anymore than they know why he has limited motor control and zero speech capability. His muscles were badly atrophied, they said, and he had some immunological disorder! Well, clearly they were wrong, as the antibodies collected in his system and now he has an immune system comparable with the average toddler. _

_ He’s still not very good with motor control, though. And speech is flat out impossible, no matter how hard he works with his speech therapist. _

_ That’s why he hasn’t told them his name isn’t Johnny.  _

_ John Doe 3558. Johnny. Sweet, handsome Johnny who melts the nurses’ hearts with a bashful smile. Temperamental, tempestuous Johnny who will overturn his food tray because he’s frustrated he can’t even go to the bathroom on his own. _

_ It’s getting better. Each week - each day - his body comes more and more under his own control. Each day the smell of graveyard dirt haunts him less and less. _

_ He no longer dreams of being buried alive. The dreams of being bricked into a wall and suffocating to death, though - those, he fears, will never leave him. _

_ He hadn’t slept in over 55 years. He had forgotten what it was like to dream. The nightmares are worth it. _

_ “Ready, Johnny?” _

_ Dennis looks away from the small window in his tiny room. Nurse Drekker has arrived with an orderly in tow - Kelly. Dennis smiles at them both. Kelly is kind and burbly, always with a sweet word to say even when Dennis has thrown a fit and knocked a stack of books to the floor. _

_ Dennis nods at them, a shaky, staccato movement. _

_ “I’m going to take you to your new room and help you get settled,” Kelly tells him. Kelly never speaks to him like he’s a child, unlike some of the other nurses and orderlies. Kelly seems to understand that mutism does not equal simplicity. Dennis is always grateful for that small kindness. “You got your stuff all boxed up?” _

_ Dennis curls his fingers in and extends his forefinger to point at the cardboard box a nurse had given him to pack up his meager possessions. Mostly books, a few odds and ends he’s picked up. The beginnings of his new life are few enough they don’t even fill the box. _

_ Dennis is already in his wheelchair, a surgical mask fitted over his mouth and nose. He hates it. He feels like he is suffocating all over again. But he will bear it if it means this small amount of freedom. Isolation is lonely - possibly more lonely than being a ghost. No, that’s not true. But it is very reminiscent. _

_ “Hold this for me, will you?” Kelly balances the box on Dennis’ lap. “Perfect. Let’s hit the road.” He unlocks the wheels and steers Dennis towards liberty. _

_ Leaving isolation and entering the main hospital is like being born again - for the third time now, Dennis thinks wryly. He is suddenly awash in bright lights and too loud sounds of the other patients and the smells that filter through the mask are strong and chemical in nature. Dennis hunkers down in his wheelchair, as if to hide behind the box he holds in his lap. One hand squeezes the wheelchair’s arm in tandem with the pounding of his heart. _

_ Too much, he wants to cry but his lips won’t form the proper shapes and all he makes is a strained grunting sound. _

_ Nurse Drekker pats his hand. “You’re alright, Johnny.” _

_ Dennis closes his eyes. Dizzy. _

_ Kelly takes him to a private room and Nurse Drekker closes the door behind them, shutting out the noise of the hallway. Dennis knows he’s in the psychiatric ward - the doctors didn’t know where else to put a man with all the motor control of a baby, prone to temper tantrums, and no memory of who he really is (or so they believe). Dennis shivers as Kelly takes the box from him and starts unpacking the books and tidbits. Locked away with crazies. He remembers his mother one time pulling him away from a man talking to himself on a street corner. And now he is on a ward with twenty other people just like that man. What would she say? _

_ He doesn’t want to think of that. Of her. _

_ Kelly stands up, the box empty. “What now, Johnny? Did you wanna lie down or stay in your chair? You want a tour of the ward?” _

_ Nurse Drekker is talking over Kelly. “Rules on the ward are going to be a little different, Johnny. You’ll be expected to live up to the same rules as the other patients. No belts, shoelaces, or sharp objects. You’ll be required to have checks - your schedule is for hourly checks. Meals will be eaten in the dining area. An orderly will escort you there and back until you’re capable of walking there on your own. You’ll have group therapy as well as individual therapy sessions - on top of your usual speech and physical therapy. If you need to speak up in group session, use your sign language. Doctor Freeman will translate for you. Okay? It’s going to be difficult for you, but Doctor Freeman thinks it will help with your feeling comfortable on the ward.” _

_ Dennis nods dully. He points to his new bed to answer Kelly’s question. Kelly comes forward to help Dennis stand and take the three steps to his bed. When Dennis is settled, he laboriously finger-spells T-O-U-R L-A-T-E-R at Kelly. _

_ Kelly nods. “I’ll make sure I’m free in a couple hours.” _

_ “Any questions?” Nurse Drekker asks. “You’ll get into the swing of things soon enough.” _

_ Dennis shakes his head. No questions. _

_ A new orderly, one Dennis has never seen before, pops his head into the room. His bright eyes look nervously from Nurse Drekker to Kelly to Dennis. “Um, sorry. I was told to come find Kelly. Doctor Sora is going to start teaching Todd and me some first aid stuff and wants you on hand to help.” _

_ Dennis cocks his head. There is something about this young man - the way he leans carefully into the room as if afraid to disturb them with his presence, the way his dark hair flops over his forehead, the way his sharp eyes take in the details of the room. He is familiar. How can it be? _

_ “I’ll see you later, Johnny,” Kelly says, clapping him on the shoulder. “Don’t go causing any trouble until I get back.” _

_ Dennis waves farewell as the two orderlies leave, and Nurse Drekker follows them out soon after. _

_ \--- _

_ Dennis is, to put it bluntly, a medical mystery. _

_ The doctors don’t understand who he is or where he came from or why he presents the symptoms he does: muscular atrophy, mutism (aphasia?), amnesia. Dennis, if he could speak, still wouldn’t know what to tell them. How to explain how he ended up unable to move next to an open grave bearing his own name and claiming he died back in 1946. _

_ Dennis isn’t even sure he understands it himself. One minute he is in his living room waiting for Jonathan to bind his soul and take him to the Hyperion. Jonathan is chanting words Dennis has no hopes of understanding. Then there is a whoosh of air. Dennis becomes dizzy - quite a feat for a ghost - as he whips around in a frenzy. He isn’t sure but he thinks he is outside the apartment. Before he can figure up from down forwards from backwards, he comes to an abrupt halt and opens his eyes. _

_ His eyes. He has eyes. That open. _

_ He feels weighted. He  _ feels _. With monumental effort, Dennis raises a hand and looks at it. Flesh, veins, the outlines of bones. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest. So loud. How? his mind screams. _

_ It takes a concerted effort to sit up. He is aware of dirt on every side and linen lining below him. A coffin. A grave. Dirt towering six feet above him. He can barely move - how will he ever get out of here? _

_ Panic rising. He pushes it down. He will not allow himself to suffocate again. _

_ He stands up, sways. Stands up on the edge of the coffin. Reaching as high as he can, he barely brushes the open air above. His arms have no strength; his legs are weakening already. How? He climbs. He doesn’t remember actually doing so but somehow he does. He escapes. Collapses in the dirt beside the gaping hole in the earth. Raises his head to confirm: _

_ Dennis Pearson _ _   
_ _ April 14, 1923 - April 1, 1946 _ _   
_ __ Be Free

_ Cordelia had insisted on the inscription, and then she told him about it later. He has just climbed out of his own grave. _

_ Bright lights assaulting his eyes some unknown time later. He’s cold but he can’t move. Flashlights sweep over his body and someone grabs him. He can’t talk, can’t move his mouth to form the words. He is drooling all over himself, barely able to swallow. He has forgotten how to control his own body. They ask him his name but even if he could tell them he doesn’t know what to say. To admit he is the owner of the now-empty grave beside them - they would not believe him. Dead for 56 years. _

_ They take him to the hospital, unable to tell what’s wrong with him. His muscles are atrophied, the doctors say but Dennis knows better. His muscles are newborn. He is a man in an overgrown baby’s body. They discover pretty quickly that his immune system is next to nothing, and move him to isolation. There Dennis is thrown into a battery of tests. They can find no cause. _

_ He gets a physical therapist to help him strengthen his muscles and a speech therapist to try to help him talk. He makes slow progress. They teach him sign language when it becomes evident he’s getting more control over his hands faster than his mouth. It’s like he remembers how to make the appropriate mouth shapes to talk but he has to concentrate on each one. It makes speech slow and stilted. He continues to pretend he has amnesia. He can’t remember the address or phone number for Angel Investigations, and wouldn’t know what to tell his friends if he did. Have they forgotten about him by now? _

_ He doesn’t know how much time passes. It feels like years. _

_ He gets frustrated. As a ghost his emotions manifested themselves in the movement of objects. Now no matter how hard he concentrates he can’t get a piece of paper to rattle without touching it. Touching things is so exhausting. Until finally his temper gets the better of him and he sends something flying with the back of his hand. Usually his lunch or dinner. He feels better until the orderly comes to clean up after him and then he just feels guilty. But the orderlies are nice and understanding. Kelly especially likes to joke with him. He even once bought Dennis a stuffed teddy bear to throw when he gets really frustrated. _

_ But still Dennis misses his friends. _

_ His misses Cordelia’s quick wit and husky laugh. He misses Andrew’s animated storytelling and their cooking together. He misses Jonathan…. _

_ Soon he will be better. Soon he will be able to discharge himself and track down the Hyperion and convince his friends he is Dennis, come back from the dead somehow. In between the moments of frustration and exhaustion and loneliness, he feels wonder. Wonder at his heart beating for the first time in years. Wonder at each breath he takes and the feel of soft blankets beneath his fingers and the scent of lilacs in Nurse Drekker’s hair. He is alive and it is oh so beautiful. _

_ \--- _

_ The orderly who caught Dennis’ eye - the one with the dark hair who needed Kelly’s help - comes back the next day, to assist Dennis getting to the cafeteria for lunch. Dennis is in bed at the moment and needs help getting into his wheelchair. He has improved since they first brought him into the hospital: he has control over his bowels and he can walk short distances and his sign language improves all the time. He can hold a book on his own now. But he still tires easily and prefers to be pushed in his wheelchair if he has to go further than his own private bathroom. _

_ The orderly doesn’t say much, not even to introduce himself. He looks shy, hiding his eyes from Dennis. He uses halting sign language to tell Dennis his intentions. _

I can hear _ , Dennis signs back.  _ Just can’t speak well.

_ The orderly looks startled and embarrassed. He blushes and ducks his head. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “The head nurse didn’t tell me much, only that you speak in sign language. I know a little. Not much, but enough I guess.” _

_ He meets Dennis’ eyes then and Dennis thinks his newborn heart might explode. It’s Jonathan. Dennis might not have been able to see the way a human can when he was a ghost, but he would know those eyes in any dimension. Jonathan. Here. An orderly. And Dennis has no way of telling him who he is. _

_ When Jonathan lifts Dennis out of his bed and into the wheelchair, Dennis grips his arms tighter than he normally would. His mind is racing. He needs Jonathan to know. Will he believe Dennis? There is no way to know. He slips his surgical mask into place and indicates he is ready to go. _

_ No, he can’t risk Jonathan not believing him. Dennis decides to play dumb for the time being.  _ Your name? _ he signs as Jonathan wheels him towards the dining room. _

_ “Jonathan,” he says. “I’m pretty new here.” _

_ Dennis grins.  _ What did they tell you about me? _ It’s not perfect - his sign language is still pretty rudimentary because the doctors want him to focus on getting his speech back and not relying overly much on sign language - but he gets the message across. _

_ Jonathan raises an eyebrow. “Did you know you have a reputation?” _

_ Dennis laughs and nods.  _ Sorry.

_ Jonathan shrugs goodnaturedly. “I’d probably be angry too if I was stuck in an isolation ward for weeks on end.” _

_ Not angry, Dennis wants to tell him, but they’re already in the dining hall and now Dennis gets the fun task of trying to eat with arms that still don’t always obey what his brain tells them to do, while surrounded by patients who make Dennis uneasy. _

_ Jonathan hovers nearby. “Do you need help?” _

_ Dennis wants to say yes to keep him close by, but his stubbornness wins out. Seeing Jonathan makes him all the more determined to get better as fast as he can, and that includes eating on his own. He shakes his head no. _

_ “Cool. I’ll be back in a bit to take you to, um, group session. See you.” He disappears before Dennis can do more than wave a weak goodbye. _

_ Today’s lunch is lukewarm chicken noodle soup. There’s a small dish of applesauce for fruit and a carton of milk. Rather than focus on his food - if it can even be called that - Dennis wonders what Jonathan is doing here dressed and acting like an orderly. _

_ Is he undercover? Does Angel need an inside man in the hospital? Why? Dennis knows some of what happens at Angel Investigations, but not all. He tries to imagine James Bond or Philip Marlowe pretending to be a hospital orderly in order to get to a victim of some horrible crime. _

_ While he is entertaining this flight of fancy, a girl slides into the seat across from him. He looks her over: she has wild red hair and dark green eyes that dart around the room, never staying in one spot for long. Her skin is so pale she might as well be a ghost herself. When she smiles at Dennis, her lips tremble. “Hi,” she says softly. _

_ “H-i,” Dennis replies slowly. _

_ “I’m Siobhan,” she says, her voice never rising much louder than a whisper. “I saw you at dinner yesterday.” _

_ Dinner had been a nerve-wracking affair but Dennis managed to keep his frustration in check as he spooned corn chowder into his mouth. Soups were a large staple of Dennis’ diet, as they were easy to eat and didn’t require cutting with a knife. Mashed potatoes were also popular. _

_ Dennis smiles at Siobhan but does not say anything with his hands or his mouth. He lifts his spoon to slurp up some chicken broth. _

_ Siobhan doesn’t seem to mind Dennis’ silence. She doesn’t say anything further as she concentrates on her own meal. _

_ After lunch, as promised, Jonathan returns to wheel Dennis into the recreation room for group session. Here, all of the residents of the psych ward come once a week to talk about how things are going for them and encourage and support each other. At least that is how it’s supposed to be. Sometimes there are misunderstandings; other times, someone will intentionally stir up a fuss. For the most part, though, everything runs smoothly and everyone who has something to say gets a turn. _

_ It’s not a great distance from the dining room to the rec room, and Dennis probably could have made it on his own. But even if he could tell Jonathan that, he will not give up these brief few minutes of contact. Once Dennis is set up, however, Jonathan has to leave again. Dennis wants to beg him to stay. _

_ “We have a new resident joining us this week,” Doctor Freeman announces, gesturing to Dennis. A couple of the residents give him strange looks, but everyone else smiles or waves hello. “Everyone, this is Johnny. Johnny, do you have anything you’d like to say?” _

_ Dennis waves hello but contributes nothing further. Doctor Freeman waits patiently, the silence stretching too long. _

_ “He shy,” one patient says, a man in his early 40s with dark hair parted unevenly down the middle. _

_ “He can’t talk, dummy,” someone else hisses back. _

_ “I ain’t the dummy, he the dummy if he can’t talk, dummy,” the man retorts. _

_ “Ernie, Claire,” Doctor Freeman interrupts before the situation can escalate. “Do either of you have something you’d like to say to Johnny?” _

_ Ernie leans across the circle and extends his hand to Dennis, who takes it and shakes it as firmly as he can. “Welcome to hell,” Ernie quips. The rest of the group titters and giggles. _

Nice to meet you _ , Dennis signs rather than struggle out the four simple words verbally. Doctor Freeman kindly translates when it’s obvious Ernie - or anyone else in the circle - does not understand. _

_ “Let’s get started. Does anyone have anything they’d like to say?” _

_ The meeting lasts an hour. At the end of it, Doctor Freeman asks Dennis if he wants to stay in the rec room for television time or head back to his room. Dennis doesn’t want to stay cooped up in his room - he had enough of that in isolation - but he is desperate to see Jonathan again. _

_ “Room….please,” he manages. _

_ It is not Jonathan who comes to fetch him, however, but Kelly. Disappointment must flash in his eyes because Kelly laughs. _

_ “Don’t tell me you’re hung up on the new guy already?” he teases. _

_ Dennis blushes and can’t look Kelly in the eye. Being queer isn’t a thing to be ashamed of anymore - he has watched enough Will & Grace to understand that - but he can’t tell if Kelly genuinely thinks Dennis is gay or if he’s just teasing. _

_ Either way, he has hit on a very real truth. Dennis is hung up on Jonathan in more ways than one. _

_ \--- _

_ That night, Dennis can’t sleep. He sees Jonathan’s eyes - as he remembers them from his time as a ghost - every time he closes his own. The way they flash passionately while talking about something important to him, the way they glance shyly at the ground when he is embarrassed. The way they scrunch closed when Jonathan is about to come. Dennis can feel his body reacting to the memory. _

_ He glances at the clock. A nurse is going to come check on him in a few minutes. This is only his second night on the ward, and he is still not used to someone poking their head into his room every hour on the hour. Last night was a tedious affair until his brain was finally too exhausted to keep waking him up every time his door opened. _

_ He can’t get his sheets dirty and there isn’t enough time to sneak into his private bathroom for a quickie. He tries to stop thinking about Jonathan...at least for now, at least like that. _

_ He thinks instead of the other team members until after the nurse has come and gone. Cordelia and Angel and Fred and Wesley and Gunn and Lorne. Thinks of their last moment of peace and unity, with the whole crew together. It was Thanksgiving and everything was perfect. Even Connor had been there. Dennis never got to meet him as a baby, only saw him a few times since he came back, but he is every inch Angel’s son. Down to his massive crush on Cordy. Who could blame him? _

_ A nurse pops his head into Dennis’ room. Dennis waves lazily. The nurse smiles. “Get some sleep.” _

_ “...’Kay,” Dennis mumbles. The nurse slips out again. _

_ As soon as he is gone, Dennis slips out of bed and crosses the three feet to his tiny private bathroom. _

_ It doesn’t take much to get him hard these days. Once his body had gained a little strength, it decided it was time to make up for the 55-plus years without a boner. He was like a teenager again; a stiff breeze sometimes could make him stand up. He’s mostly gotten it under control, except for persistent morning wood and the occasional wet dream. But now all he has to do is think about the last time he brought Jonathan to orgasm and he is hard. _

_ His stamina is still not quite up to par, and it only takes a few strokes before he is coming into a wad of toilet paper that he hurriedly flushes. _

_ His legs trembling, he edges back to the bed and crawls in. He will figure out a way to talk to Jonathan and tell him what is going on. Soon. Morse code is out, as Dennis’ fingers simply don’t move that fast. Signing is too limited. And speech...well, that is a whole other level of complexity. _

_ Dennis yawns widely. He’ll figure it out later. Now, he just wants to sleep in post-orgasmic happiness. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you really think I was gonna kill him off permanently? Nah.


	33. Chapter 33

“Ready, Dad?”

Mr. Parker sighed, but he watched his daughter with a fond smile. “There’s no slowing this one down,” he told Jonathan, who was waiting awkwardly to wheel Mr. Parker to his daughter’s waiting car. “She don’t get that from me, I tell you. Gets it from her mom. The both of them together are unstoppable.”

His daughter rolled her eyes goodnaturedly. “What he means by that is no he’s not ready and he wants me to stop nagging. Don’t know why you moved to a city full of people just like me and Mom, Dad. I’m going to go see if the nurses have any more pamphlets on cancer prevention and awareness.”

“You already cleared them out,” Mr. Parker grumbled at her retreating back. “She’s going to live to be a hundred and fifty, just you watch.”

“I can believe it,” Jonathan said wryly. There was something strikingly Cordelia-esque about Mr. Parker’s daughter and how she seemed to take charge of a room just by walking in.

Mr. Parker pushed himself out of the bed and tottered the distance to his wheelchair. He was still moving gingerly after his surgery, but he looked rosy in the cheeks and seemed cheerier, no longer talking about how he was on death’s door. Jonathan reached out to help him should he stumble, but Mr. Parker waved him off.

“Want me to grab these books for you?” Jonathan asked instead, indicating the history books on the bedside table.

Mr. Parker’s sharp eyes roved over the book spines. “All ‘cept those last three. They weren’t very good. You can have them, if you want, or find someone else in this hellhole who might appreciate them.”

Jonathan grinned. He had someone in mind who might just want to read them, trash or no.

Finally situated and ready to go, Mr. Parker allowed Jonathan to wheel him out into the lobby to let his daughter know they were ready, then out to the front driveway where her car was waiting. Mr. Parker stood up and walked the short distance from the wheelchair to the passenger seat all on his own, while his daughter watched like a hawk. When he was belted in, she turned to Jonathan.

“Thanks for taking such good care of him. He enjoyed having you around to read to him and stuff.”

Jonathan stared at her, bewildered. Sure, he had read to Mr. Parker as often as he could get away with, but he assumed it didn’t make enough of an impact on Mr. Parker’s daily routine to warrant telling his daughter about. It was as much for Jonathan’s own enjoyment as for Mr. Parker’s. “I, uh, I was glad to help.”

Mr. Parker’s daughter - Jonathan never caught her first name - waved to him as she climbed into the driver’s seat and started up the engine. Jonathan wheeled the chair back into the hospital, parked it in one of the corridors out of the way, and went back to Mr. Parker’s room to retrieve the refused books. One was about World War I and the other two were about Korea. He set them where he would not forget about them, then set about stripping the bed, gathering the trash, and getting the room ready for the next inhabitant.

When his duties were finally done, he snatched up the books and all but trotted to the Psych Ward. In the last three weeks, Jonathan had gotten to know Johnny a bit more. He knew that the man was a voracious reader, sometimes going through a whole book in one afternoon. Johnny would read anything: history, fiction, historical fiction, psychology, physics, even books about gardening or Harlequin romances. He was frustrated by his limited abilities to communicate, but happy to listen to Jonathan talk about the latest science fiction novel or television show he had read or watched. Apart from reading to Mr. Parker, hanging out with Johnny was Jonathan’s favourite thing. He was always so grateful and clearly delighted to see Jonathan, and it made Jonathan feel proud that someone wanted him around so much.

Jonathan tapped on Johnny’s doorjamb. Johnny was sitting in his chair by the window, and he twisted around at the noise. His face lit up when he saw Jonathan. “I brought you some books. The guy on the cancer ward I was telling you about, the one I read to? He left today and he didn’t want to take all his books with him, so.” Jonathan held up the books. “You want them?”

Johnny nodded eagerly, holding out his hands without even bothering to look over the titles first. Jonathan stepped inside and held them out to him. He took the books with clumsy hands and set them on his lap to look at the covers. He smiled at the titles and ran one soft finger over the embossed lettering on the one about World War I. He looked up at Jonathan.

“Th-th-a-nk y-ou,” he said in his slow, shaky way. It was clear these two small words cost him a lot of effort. “On t-e-e-en?”

Jonathan glanced at his watch. It was right around time for him to take his ten minute break, and he didn’t have any pressing duties to attend to right away. “Sure,” he said. He leaned against Johnny’s bedside table; the rickety old thing shifted under his weight, but the only chair in the room was currently pointed towards the window. Johnny’s was not a room made for company, which Jonathan felt was unfortunate. If anyone needed visitors, it was this guy. But there was no one that he could remember to contact. No one visited him except nurses, therapists, and Jonathan.

“Have you read any of those before?”

Johnny shook his head happily. None of them were very thick books, unfortunately. He would probably devour them in no time at all.

_ Wars are sad _ , Johnny signed.  _ But interesting. _

Jonathan didn’t tell him to talk instead of signing, the way the nurses were always pushing him to. It wasn’t Jonathan’s place, and besides he could see how much speech wore Johnny out. Part of him worried that if he bothered Johnny with that, he would stop asking Jonathan to hang out with him. Instead, Jonathan practiced sign language during his off hours so that he could keep up with Johnny’s rapidly expanding vocabulary. Jonathan couldn’t explain why he felt so relaxed around Johnny in ways he wasn’t with anyone else, including Mr. Parker. They were together often enough that the hospital staff and other Psych patients had started calling them John-squared. It was weird, this feeling of camaraderie between them. Weird, but almost…

Familiar. Jonathan’s heart squeezed the way it still always did when he thought of Dennis, but he pushed the feeling away. Johnny was not Dennis, and it wasn’t like Jonathan was replacing Dennis with this new friend. Nobody could ever replace Dennis.

“That old movie The Fly was on the SciFi channel last night,” Jonathan said out loud to distract himself from his thoughts. “My roommate and I watched it and then kept trying to scare each other by imitating the guy yelling ‘help me!’ in his tiny voice. Ever seen that movie?”

Johnny started to nod, then seemed to catch himself and shrugged instead.  _ Probably, _ he signed.  _ Don’t remember. _

Jonathan winced. He often said things like this (“Ever done this? Ever had that?”) and yet he never seemed to learn that the answer almost always came down to “I don’t remember.” He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have amnesia. Johnny never seemed to mind, though. He always responded evenly and with equanimity, acting as if Jonathan’s blunders were of no consequence.

_ What’s it about _ ? Johnny asked.

Jonathan shook off his embarrassment and launched into a brief retelling of the ridiculous story but refused to give away the ending, no matter how much Johnny pouted.  _ How will I remember if I saw it? _ he demanded in his careful sign language that was almost as slow as his speech.

“Guess you’ll just have to watch it sometime,” Jonathan told him, grinning.

Johnny stuck his tongue out, no interpretation necessary. Then he softened.  _ You spend this much time with other patients?  _ He didn’t sign all the words - he wasn’t that adept - but he signed enough that Jonathan got the gist.

He was surprised - and a little uncomfortable - with the question. “Not really,” he admitted. “I mean, I would read to Mr. Parker, but you already know that. But I like hanging out with you. You… well, you’re a cool guy.” He hesitated, not sure if Johnny would be flattered or offended by his next words. “And you remind me of someone.”

Johnny sat forward in his chair, an intense look in his eyes that took Jonathan aback. “W..ho?” he asked slowly.

“This guy I used to know,” Jonathan admitted, eyes on the floor. “I...well, he’s not around anymore. He died. But trust me, I don’t hang out with you because I’m, like, trying to replace him or anything. But you just… remind me of him, I guess.” He huffed a bitter laugh. “Even telling you that… I probably wouldn’t have told anyone else about him, but it’s easy to talk to you, somehow. Just like it was easy to talk to him. And it wasn’t easy for him to talk back, either. He communicated a lot through sign language and, uh, Morse Code, actually. It’s… it’s really weird. Sorry,” he ended, not sure exactly what he was apologizing for. He glanced up at Johnny through his lashes to see if he was angry.

Johnny was not angry. He was… well, he looked almost stricken. His mouth opened and closed for a moment, then he said, “I’m D-”

“Aha, I thought I’d find you in here,” Nurse Drekker said, poking her head into the room. “Are you on break, Jonathan?”

Jonathan tried to look like he wasn’t startled by her entrance, though inside his heart was pounding a mile a minute. He couldn’t believe he’d told Johnny about Dennis, even if obliquely. He glanced at his watch - he’d been in Johnny’s room for nearly twelve minutes. He should have been more aware of the time, damnit. “Not anymore. What’s up?”

Nurse Drekker beckoned him to follow her. “How do you feel about giving a sponge bath?”

Ah, the glorious life of an orderly. Jonathan smiled wryly. “No problem.” He glanced back at Johnny, who was watching him leave with a strange look on his face - one of resentment. Jonathan swallowed. Had he made a mistake telling Johnny about Dennis? But a moment later the expression was gone, replaced by a rueful chagrin as he waved goodbye to Jonathan. Jonathan waved back, a feeling of trepidation rising in the pit of his stomach.

\---

It wasn’t so much that Jonathan started avoiding Johnny - it was impossible when his duties took him all over the hospital - but he no longer spent his breaks in Johnny’s room chatting with him. That look of resentment Jonathan had glimpsed put him on edge for reasons he could not explain. He felt somehow it must be his fault, that Johnny was annoyed to be compared to a former friend.

Johnny, too, in those days after the conversation, began to act differently - but not standoffish, like Jonathan. No, he seemed more intense, like he was intent on some goal Jonathan could not fathom. He watched Jonathan like a hawk any time they had to interact, and a few times he opened his mouth to say something, but he could never get the words out quickly enough. Whatever he wanted to say, there wasn’t enough time and there were too many people around them.

_ Visit? _ Johnny would ask sometimes, but Jonathan found excuses not to stay. He didn’t trust the intensity in Johnny’s stares - or to be more precise, he did not trust himself around that intensity. The last thing he needed was to have another confidante he spilled all his secrets to. Look how the last one had turned out.

His weekend (the hospital tried to make sure its orderlies got two consecutive days off in a row, even if it wasn’t always the same two days off each week) provided a much-needed respite. Jonathan was able to clear his head and bring his thoughts back under control. He was being silly about this whole Johnny thing, he decided. He could still spend time with the guy; he just had to be careful not to say too many personal things. He would stick with science fiction and the occasional story about his roommate, and nothing more.

The day after his weekend - a full week after the incident in Johnny’s room - Jonathan returned to work feeling more sure of himself. He went about his usual routine, but when it came time for his ten minute break, he wavered on his way to Johnny’s room. What if Johnny didn’t want to hang out with him after the coolness of last week?

He headed for the break room instead.

He was on swing shift for the day, starting at three in the afternoon until eleven at night. Just after lunch (or dinner, to be more precise, since it was past eight in the evening) a nurse found Jonathan changing the sheets in a recently vacated room. The nurse poked his head into the room and beckoned Jonathan.

“There’s a bit of a situation on the Psych Ward,” he said. Jonathan’s first thought was of Johnny, and this thought was proved correct a moment later when the nurse continued. “The John Doe over there is putting up a fuss and won’t let anyone come into his room. Day shift noted you’ve gotten really close with him and we’re hoping you’ll have the magic touch.”

Jonathan set down the pillowcase he was stuffing. “What, uh, what do you want me to do?”

“Get into the patient’s room and restrain him. We’ll take over from there.”

Jonathan restrain someone? He hadn’t needed to use physical force with any of the patients and he couldn’t imagine doing so - least of all to Johnny. But he followed the nurse through the corridors to the Psych Ward and down to Johnny’s room. It appeared that Johnny had managed to barricade his door with something. One of the swing shift nurses was trying to push it open but couldn’t. Jonathan stepped forward, uncertain. How was he supposed to get inside?

The other nurse stepped back, and Jonathan raised a hand to knock tentatively at the door. A considerable crowd had gathered around: orderlies, nurses, and patients alike. There was no response to Jonathan’s knock so he said in a voice that wavered, “Johnny? It’s me, uh, Jonathan. Th - the orderly. Um, mind opening the door?”

There was a click on the other side, and then the door opened just enough for Jonathan to slide through. There was nothing on the other side of the door except for Johnny himself in his wheelchair. Jonathan looked around, puzzled. “What was blocking the door?”

“I...was,” Johnny said slowly. He pointed at the lock brake on his wheels. Jonathan couldn’t help but snort in admiration.

“I think you’re about to get into a lot of trouble,” Jonathan told him.

Johnny shrugged. “Got...b-b-ored.”  _ Lonely _ , he signed.

Jonathan raised an eyebrow. “I recommend the television room next time.”

Johnny stuck his tongue out at Jonathan.  _ I’ll behave now _ , he signed slowly.  _ But can I ask a favour? _

“What is it?” Jonathan asked. He wasn’t sure he was supposed to be doing any negotiating in here; he was just supposed to get Johnny subdued so the nurses could take over.

_ Visit me after shift? I will be awake _ .

Jonathan wasn’t so sure about that. He was probably going to be given a sedative immediately, and it was going to be late by the time Jonathan clocked out. “I’ll try,” he said. He would, he figured, at least swing by and if Johnny by some miracle was still awake, he would stay and chat for a few minutes.

Johnny grinned at him. He rolled his wheelchair away from the door.  _ Consider...me… s-u-b-d-u-e-d _ . He fingerspelled the last word, not knowing the correct sign for it.

Jonathan helped Johnny get into bed and then went to open the door. “He’s fine,” he said, though he wasn’t sure how much his word counted for anything. Two of the nurses rushed in without even listening. Jonathan slunk away, ignoring the way people murmured (about him?) as he passed. He used back stairwells to return to the room he had been in before being summoned, intent on finishing the rest of his shift in peace.

\---

By the time eleven rolled around, Jonathan was ready to go home. But he had promised Johnny he would stop by, so he ducked into the Psych Ward, wishing he were invisible. Fortunately, by this hour the patients were mostly asleep and the nurses weren’t paying any attention to him. Jonathan had shed his scrubs for regular clothes, but that made him stand out even more on the ward at this time of night.

He poked his head into Johnny’s room and was startled to find him awake and sitting up in bed. Jonathan glanced around as if he was doing something against the rules (he probably was; visitors weren’t allowed on the ward this late) before slipping into the room. “How are you not drugged to the gills right now?” he whispered.

Johnny just grinned at him and made a zipped-lips gesture. His movements were still uncoordinated and blocky, but less so than when Jonathan had first met him. Every day he improved a bit more. Jonathan snorted and crept further into the room. He silently drew the only chair up to the bed and settled on the edge. “Well?” he asked. He didn’t mean to sound so cranky, but he didn’t like being manipulated and he was tired after a long day.

_Had to see you_ _off clock_ , Johnny signed. _Have news_.

In spite of himself, Jonathan was intrigued. “What sort of news?”

Johnny pulled open the drawer in his bedside table and withdrew a writing tablet. “G..ood n-n-news, I ho….pe.” He handed the tablet to Jonathan with fingers that shook. “All w...eek t’write tha...t.”

The first page is just two words, written in ill-formed letters like a child might write, but they are enough to stop Jonathan’s heart for several seconds.

I’M DENNIS.

Was it a horrible joke? Was it a trick? Was it some sort of metaphor where Johnny was trying to tell him that their friendship was like that which Jonathan had with Dennis? Except Jonathan had never mentioned his name. Jonathan couldn’t breathe. “What?” he croaked.

Johnny made a gesture Jonathan only barely saw out of the corner of his eye. He glanced up. Johnny motioned for him to flip to the next page.

This time it was Jonathan’s fingers that shook as he struggled to turn the page. There was a lot more poorly formed writing on this page. This must have been the part it took Johnny a week to write, the words running into each other and in some parts overlapping. It was hard to read.

_ Knew you wouldn’t believe me. Sounds crazy. But true. I can prove it to you. I don’t have amnesia. I pretend. But I remember the things we talked about and the things we did. I can prove I am Dennis. Trust me. _

And then below were things only Dennis could know. Things he and Jonathan had talked about in private, where no one could overhear them. And allusions to their trysts together, though nothing graphic. The list continued for several pages, ending with that night Jonathan hugged the Dennis-pillow tight to his chest and reassured him he would make everything okay.

Jonathan’s eyes filled with tears. He slammed the tablet down on the bed in a fury that felt like it was going to tear him apart. “You sick… you fucking twisted…” He couldn’t come up with insults strong enough for what he felt.

Johnny’s face crumpled. “Wha..?” He points to the list of memories. “But…?”

“Yeah, sure, and how many demons in the universe could easily have stolen Dennis’ memories?” Jonathan snarled quietly. He couldn’t draw any of the nurses’ attention to this room and put them in danger. “I could list dozens. Should I begin or end with The First?” His heart hammered. Why this again? Why couldn’t the supernatural world just  _ leave him alone? _

Johnny reached out to touch him, but Jonathan jerked back. Of all things, the demon dared to look  _ hurt _ about that. “Not F-f-firs...t,” Johnny stuttered out. “Tou...ch.”

“Fine, not The First,” Jonathan snapped. He needed to get out of there and call Angel. He slid to his feet. “I may not know what you’re called but I have friends who can figure it out and slay you. You won’t get away with whatever you’re up to.”

Johnny snatched up the tablet and tore away the pages that were written on. His face was twisted with anger and - tears? Did demons cry? Before Jonathan could react, Johnny started shredding the pages as best as he could into tiny pieces. The pieces he flung onto the floor, creating a small white blizzard that brought back another memory, one not listed on the tiny shreds: paper snowflakes drifting on the floor after Dennis found out about the eviction notice. Jonathan frowned. Surely it wasn’t possible…

No, it wasn’t possible. Jonathan slammed out of the room.

But something made him stop after just a few steps. Could a demon recreate that feeling of trust and connection Jonathan felt to Johnny that was so similar to how he had felt about Dennis? The First, maybe, but that had been in a dream world where anything seemed possible. This was reality. And Jonathan’s heart so very much wanted to believe…

He backtracked to the room. Dennis still sat where Jonathan had left him, tears welling up in his eyes.

“Dennis?”

The man in the bed favoured him with such a dirty look of “no shit, Sherlock,” that Jonathan actually snorted out loud.

“But…” Jonathan looked at the scattered scraps on the floor. It wasn’t  _ proof _ .

_ Trust your gut _ , Dennis begged.  _ Or trust me. Please. _

Jonathan shook his head slowly. He couldn’t. He’d been burned too many times before.

He would call the others here. They could test him to see if he was telling the truth. Until then…. Until then, Jonathan, just for this one little bit of time, would allow himself to believe. Dennis. The man in that bed was Dennis. The thought brought to his brain a sense of vertigo.

“How?” His voice sounded hollow to his own ears. The world looked a little muffled, like someone had wrapped it in gauze.

Dennis shrugged helplessly. “New…. c-c-ca-se,” he managed.

Jonathan’s eyes widened. Angel Investigations.  _ Cordelia _ . They had to be told as soon as possible. Maybe Wesley would be able to figure out how the hell this happened - or if it was really a demon after all. The world looked a little less fuzzy now, as Jonathan tried to figure out how he was going to sneak seven people (one a demon who tended to stand out) into a ward that was closed to everyone except hospital staff and patients at this hour. This couldn’t wait until morning. There’s no way Jonathan would be able to keep quiet. He jumped up. “I’m going to go call the others and try to figure out how to get them in here without being seen.” Maybe he could convince one of the nurses that this was an emergency situation?

He started towards the door, then looked back.  _ Dennis _ . It couldn’t be possible. Maybe Jonathan was the one who needed to be admitted to the Psych Ward.

Dennis smiled at him. Jonathan’s heart stuttered when he connected the smile he’d been seeing all this time - the laugh, the voice, the gestures and mannerisms, the...everything - to the ghost for whom he had always wished to know what those things looked like. “I, uh… I’ll be back in a minute.”

Jonathan darted away, dodging the nurse on duty. He was out of uniform, not wanting to get roped into cleaning while off the clock, but that also meant he had no business being on this ward. He found an empty corridor outside the ward and pulled out his cell phone, dialling numbers with fumbling fingers. As the phone rang at the hotel, Jonathan glanced at his watch: it was now quarter to midnight.

Gunn answered after four rings, just before the machine could pick up. “Angel Investigations.”

“It’s Jonathan,” he said. “Um, I’ve got something here a-at the hospital you guys need to see. Immediately. Bring everyone.” He couldn’t tell them over the phone. They would have to see it to believe it.

“Weapons?” Gunn asked. He didn’t care about the vagueness of Jonathan’s message, only the bullet points.

Jonathan hesitated. “Yes, just in case, but if this is for real then….then it’s really good. I think. I just… I can’t explain yet. But if it’s all true, then it’s really good news,” Jonathan promised. “Meet me up on the fifth floor, east wing.”

“Got it,” Gunn said. “I’ll rally the others. Some of us just got back from a case, so we’ll need to clean up a bit.”

“Okay,” Jonathan said. “Try to hurry.” It wasn’t like Dennis was going anywhere, but the longer Jonathan had to think, the more he was going to overanalyze the situation.

They hung up, and Jonathan edged back towards the Psych Ward. There was a chance he could do this the right way. There was only one nurse on duty at this time of night, and the orderlies wouldn’t be hanging around unless they were called to deal with a problem. Jonathan used his badge to unlock the ward doors and hurried over to the nurse’s station.

The nurse - a no-nonsense woman named Florence Hernandez - scowled at him. “How did you get in here? You’re not a patient.”

Jonathan held up his badge. “I’m an orderly. I’m off duty,” he said before she could ask where his scrubs were.

“If you’re off duty, you shouldn’t be in here. This ward is closed to visitors,” Hernandez said.

“I know. I have a huge favour to ask you that you’re probably not going to like. John Doe in room 5842? I think I found his family. They’re on their way over right now. Please don’t make me turn them away when they get here,” he begged.

“Are you crazy?” Hernandez demanded. “We could both get fired if I let them in here and someone finds out. Why did you call them in the dead of the night anyway?”

“If someone you loved had been missing for three months, wouldn’t you want to know right away?” Jonathan asked. “I couldn’t not tell them.”

Hernandez worried her bottom lip with her teeth as she thought. After a moment, she shook her head. “It’s not worth my job,” she said. “Sorry. They’ll have to wait for the ward to open in the morning.”

“But -” Jonathan started to protest.

“Nope,” Hernandez said, gathering up her clipboard to start checks. It was just about midnight. Jonathan remembered that Dennis was on hourly checks. If he could figure out some way to conceal his friends for just the thirty seconds it would take for her to poke her head in the room, maybe he could get away with this.

It was risky, duplicitous, and could very easily get Jonathan fired or worse if he got caught. But he had rushed headlong into this and there was no stopping now. He had been given a respite from the disastrous mistake he made three months ago and he was grasping for salvation. Dennis was alive.  _ Dennis was alive _ . Not just safe but actually, verifiably, breathingly alive. 

Jonathan darted back to Dennis’ room while Nurse Hernandez was looking in on other patients. “The others will be here soon. I have to go wait for them. Um, yeah.” He dashed out again without waiting for Dennis’ response. He made sure Nurse Hernandez saw him leaving.

He went and sat in a wheelchair that had been left in the hallway across from the main stairwell. Now that he was still again, his brain caught up with his body. 

Dennis was alive. Impossible but true.

How was he going to explain this to the others? How was Dennis going to explain to them with his broken, halting speech how he came to be here? Would they trust Dennis? Would they trust him on Jonathan’s word?

And what of other matters - what of the future? Where will Dennis live, and who will take care of him? Jonathan felt a fierce protectiveness rise in his gut. Dennis was his fault and his responsibility, so he should be the one to take this on. But that would mean putting himself in close proximity to Dennis pretty much around the clock, except when he was at work. Assuming, of course, he could even come home. Would things still be the same between them? Would they carry on as they had before the spell went awry? Did Jonathan even still want that, now that Dennis was clearly, inescapably male?

He put his head in his hands. There were no answers to any of these questions. He was going to drive himself crazy if he couldn’t get his mind to calm down. He didn’t even know for sure yet that this was really Dennis and that he was somehow miraculously alive.

Dennis was  _ alive _ .

\---

Cordelia rolled her head to work out the kinks in her shoulders. She, Gunn, and Angel had just gotten back from a job that had been just as full of icky as every job they ever took. Why couldn’t all demons die as mess-free as vampires? Jab - poof - and the only thing you had to worry about was inhaling too much vamp dust.

That sounded like a drug. Were there creatures out there who snorted vamp dust for a high?

Cordelia was just thinking about going upstairs and drawing a hot bath when the phone rang. She met Gunn’s eyes and they duked out a silent battle over who would have to answer; Gunn lost the moment Cordelia raised her eyebrow at him. Grumbling goodnaturedly, he plucked up the phone. “Angel Investigations…. Weapons?... Got it.” A few more words were exchanged and then Gunn hung up the phone.

“Jonathan needs us at the hospital. Weapons just in case but probably won’t be needed, he said, but he’s got big news and wants everyone there,” Gunn told Cordelia and Angel. “Is Andrew still here?”

Andrew popped his head out of Angel’s office where he had been messing around with a dagger inscribed with runes. “Jonathan told me he had to stay late and would call when he was ready to go home, since I was gonna give him a lift. What’s wrong?”

“Don’t know yet,” Angel said, grabbing a knife and sliding it into his sleeve. “We’re headed for the hospital.”

“I’ll get Wes and Fred,” Gunn said, heading for the stairs. “Y’all find Lorne.”

As Angel and Gunn both headed upstairs to rouse the others, Andrew wandered over to Cordelia and fidgeted helplessly with the cloth she’d been using to clean her gunk-spattered shirt. “Do you think there’s something wrong?” he asked fretfully. “Do you think he’s relapsed?”

Cordelia’s mouth twisted slightly, but she didn’t say anything snappish about Jonathan; it would only make Andrew unhappier if she brought up how selfish Jonathan had been in the last few months. “It didn’t sound like it,” she said, trying for reassuring. “Sounded like he found something all supernatural-y at the hospital. Just what we need tonight: more ick.” This shirt would probably have to go into the garbage after tonight. Damn it all, it was one of her favourites.

Once the whole team was assembled, they rolled out. Gunn rode in Ol’ Granny with Andrew while everyone else piled into the Plymouth. Cordelia refused to worry about what they would find at the hospital until they actually got there. Everyone else was tense and worried. Jonathan had become a subject that made everyone uncomfortable, even though he was getting better.

Cordelia sighed out loud. She should have ridden with Andrew to make sure he wasn’t panicking, but she still had  _ some _ standards left, and that included not riding in that beat up old lemon any more than she absolutely had to.

Angel shot her a look that contained a silent question. Cordelia shook her head subtly. No, she wasn’t worried because there was nothing to be worried about. Jonathan was fine.

She would keep saying that as many times as it took to convince herself.

They pulled into the hospital parking structure and swept into the building. The ER section was still busy, even at this time of night, so it was easy for them to blend in, especially with the various stains that still covered Cordelia, Gunn, and Angel’s clothes. They walked as if they belonged in the hospital, and no one stopped them.

“Jonathan said fifth floor,” Gunn told them, so they slipped into the first stairwell they found and headed up to the right floor. For a large group, they were almost silent as they hurried up the steps and found what they were looking for.

As they emerged from the stairwell, they found that Jonathan was waiting for them, looking skittish and shaken. Andrew hurried to his best friend, demanding to know what was wrong.

“Nothing, it’s - well, you’ll have to trust me, okay?” Jonathan said.

The others exchanged glances, but Cordelia studied Jonathan, her eyes not wavering from the feverish glint in his eye and the way he kept stealing looks at the closed door down the hallway. “Okay,” she said after a moment. Whatever had worked him up this badly had to be worth at least taking a look at.

“Um, so we have to sneak into that ward,” Jonathan said, pointing at the closed door that kept drawing his attention like an extra-strength magnet. “The nurse should be away from her desk in a couple minutes to do quarter hour checks, but, uh, I don’t know how we’re going to stay hidden the whole time. It might take a while to get the full story.”

“Leave that to me,” Wesley said crisply. He spoke a few words in a language that made the hairs on the back of Cordelia’s neck stand up. “We’re hidden from sight and security cameras, and no one can hear what we say. Just try not to bump into anything and we should be fine.”

Jonathan gawped at Wesley. “I didn’t even think of magic,” he said, sounding annoyed. “Okay, well… here we go, I guess.”

He led them to the ward door. Cordelia raised her eyebrow when she realised it was the  _ mental _ ward he was leading them to. Well, maybe that wasn’t all that surprising: if something weird was going on or someone was seeing demons, it stood to reason they’d end up here. Jonathan watched to make sure the nurse was fully away from her desk and wouldn’t be returning for a few minutes before gesturing for them to follow him. They crept onto the ward and down a short hallway to an open door. Jonathan led them inside.

The man in the room just sat on his bed, staring right through them. He seemed to be waiting for something - or someone. Them. At Jonathan’s gesture, Wesley spoke the words to allow this man to see and hear them. He jumped as eight people suddenly appeared inside his small room. He broke into a grin when he looked them all over.

Jonathan stepped up next to the man’s side and looked at the group. “Um, I know this is going to sound crazy, but, uh… This man…”

“It’s Dennis,” Cordelia finished for him, her voice sounding echoey even to herself. She stared in shock; she knew who he was as surely as she knew her own name. The knowledge came from the part of her that still pulsated with demon blood, the part that glowed when things got really exciting. The part that knew to stay away from Connor when he started looking at her all gooey eyed, and the part that could feel the way the universe worked around her. In other words: her mystical aspect, the one that had lingered after her stint as a higher power. She knew. The how and why didn’t matter - her best friend was back, alive and whole on a hospital bed. Their eyes met, and Cordelia felt something leaking from one of her eyes. She brushed it away impatiently.

“Dennis who?” Angel asked, ever the oblivious.

“Phantom Dennis,” Jonathan supplied quietly. “Only...I guess not so much a phantom anymore.”

This pronouncement was met first with stunned silence and then an avalanche of protests and questions. “That’s impossible -” “But how -?” “Are you sure?”

Andrew leaped onto Dennis’ bed and grabbed him into a hug that was more like an attack. “Careful!” Jonathan cried, trying to extract Dennis from Andrew’s clinging grip. “Don’t hurt him.”

“Guys, guys try to keep it down,” Angel hissed.

“There’s only so much my spell can conceal,” Wesley said. He settled onto a chair that had been placed by the window and leaned forward eagerly. “Can you confirm your name for us, please?” he asked the man sitting up in the bed.

“He can’t speak very well,” Jonathan interjected quickly. “Just so you know.”

Dennis flashed a grateful smile to Jonathan. Cordelia edged closer to his bed, on the side opposite Jonathan, and reached for his hand. After all the time he had given her strength when she thought she had none left, it was the least she could do. Maybe it was a higher power perception thing, or maybe she just knew his aura so well after all these years, but there was no doubt in Cordelia’s mind that Dennis was here and alive, never mind the why or wherefore.

“D-De...enni-s…. Pears-s-o..n,” he said slowly. Everyone leaned in with baited breath as he struggled out the words.

Fred had picked up his chart; now she nudged Angel and pointed at something on one of the many sheets. “It says he has amnesia.”

Dennis shook his head quickly. “Lied,” he reassured them. “Di..dn’t know h-h-how t’con...tact….you.”

This was going to be a long conversation.

It took hours, but Dennis patiently explained everything he knew, which unfortunately wasn’t much. He told them about waking up in the grave and struggling to climb out. He told them about being transferred to the hospital with no muscle control, antibodies, or (he claimed) memory of how he got there. He told them about being kept in isolation and the progress he had made since finding himself alive again. He told them about seeing Jonathan and trying to explain who he was but it was impossible because of his disabilities. Here, Jonathan interjected, saying that Dennis had pretended not to know who he was.

Dennis looked guilty. He needed a plan, he said. And until he had one he was going to keep up the ruse. Besides, he hadn’t recognised Jonathan at first because apparently ghosts see the world and the people in it differently than humans do.

By the end of his explanations, Dennis was pale and shaky, looking like he was about to pass out. Cordelia hadn’t let go of his hand once during the whole process. The nurse had come by twice to check on Dennis; they waited with strained breath as he pretended to be asleep so she wouldn’t become suspicious. Fortunately, she didn’t notice any weird indentations made by Andrew having firmly taken up residence on Dennis’ bed.

When Dennis finished, silence surrounded them. Andrew sniffled. “You’ve been so brave,” he said.

“What do we do now?” Fred asked Angel.

Cordelia looked up sharply. “We take him home. First thing tomorrow. We tell the doctors that - oh, I don’t know…”

“I told the nurse I had found Dennis’ family,” Jonathan said. “It seemed like it was more or less the truth.”

Cordelia pointed to him confidently. “Perfect. So we tell the doctors that Dennis is my brother and Jonathan knows me from school but he didn’t know Dennis that well. We make up a fake birth certificate or whatever, and we bring Dennis home.”

“And do what?” Lorne asked. “No offense sweetie, but you need the sort of care I’m not sure we can provide. Especially with how crazy things get with us.”

“We’ll work it out,” Cordelia insisted.

“He’s gotta come home,” Andrew chimed in.

Dennis made some gestures that looked like sign language. Jonathan shook his head vehemently. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said.

“What?” Cordelia demanded.

Dennis signed again, more insistently.

“He says he doesn’t want to be a burden,” Jonathan translated.

This was met with a whole chorus of protests. No, he wasn’t a burden, how could he think that? They would work something out, even if they had to do a rota. They’d set him up with everything he needed to be as independent as possible while on the road to recovery, they insisted.

That was the good thing at least; if Dennis continued on the same path he’d been on this whole time, he was headed for a full recovery. He might not have Slayer super-healing skills (and Cordelia suspected even Buffy would need a while to recover from being a skeleton for fifty years) but he was definitely getting better at his own pace. There was no reason to assume that when he finished healing he wouldn’t be just as healthy and functional as the average human.

Angel cracked his knuckles. “Okay, so tomorrow we talk to the doctors about getting Dennis home care. He’ll still need therapy and stuff, so that’ll be something we’ll have to set up if they let us take him home. Fred, if you can make some fake legal documents, whatever a person would usually have by the time they’re twenty-three years old? Cordelia and I will deal with the doctors tomorrow. Wes, I want you, Gunn, and Lorne figuring out how this happened. Have there been any incidents of ghosts accidentally getting resurrected before? Anything like that.”

“I’ll have to talk to the only person currently living who has successfully raised the dead,” Wesley said with a meaningful glance at Jonathan and Andrew.

“Who…?” Andrew started to ask, but the look in Jonathan’s eyes said that he’d already made the connection.

“Willow,” Jonathan said quietly.

“Leave Jonathan and Andrew’s names out of it,” Angel said after an uncomfortable beat of silence. “Say you were the one who did it or you heard about it from a friend.”

Wesley nodded sharply. “And if she asks to meet Dennis, I’ll attempt to waylay her.”

“Good. We don’t need any more trouble than is necessary,” Angel said.

Everyone shifted; those who had been sitting stood up. It was time to get going, get some sleep before the shit hit the fan tomorrow. Andrew climbed reluctantly off Dennis’ bed with a sleepy wave.

Only Jonathan lingered, his eyes stuck fast on Dennis’ face. “Maybe I could stay the night…? Keep you company?”

Dennis signed something that made Jonathan sigh. “Okay. First thing tomorrow.”

One by one they trooped out of the room in silence. Once outside the ward, Wesley let the spell drop.

Cordelia lingered at the back of the group with Jonathan. She nudged his shoulder. “Guess maybe you didn’t fuck up after all.”

Jonathan’s mouth twisted unhappily. “There’s still plenty of time for it all to come crashing down. What if I -?”

“Shut up,” Cordelia told him firmly. “Take the victory and be proud.”

“But -”

“Don’t make me hurt you.”

Jonathan scowled at her, then his expression broke into one of cautious optimism. “He’s alive.”

Cordelia flashed him a grin. “Yeah. He is. And tomorrow he’s coming home.”

Jonathan and Andrew split away from them in the parking garage, heading for their own apartment, hopefully to sleep. Someone would have to be awake and alert tomorrow, because it probably wouldn’t be her - she had too much to get ready back at the hotel to be able to sleep tonight.


	34. Chapter 34

Sleep was a foregone conclusion. Jonathan and Andrew were both too keyed up to even think about trying to sleep; besides, arrangements had to be made. If Dennis was coming home as soon as tomorrow, they had to make sure the apartment was more or less accessible for him.

In the car on the way home, Jonathan cast a sidelong glance at Andrew, who was happily burbling plans for when Dennis came home. “You’re positive it’s him,” Jonathan said. It wasn’t a question, but more of an awed statement. He wished he could have that much faith.

“It’s Dennis,” Andrew said confidently. “If a demon wanted to impersonate him, why would they pretend to be all unable to speak and move and stuff?”

It was a fair point, but there was still the possibility this was a long con. The surety Jonathan had felt back in the hospital room, listening to Dennis struggle to talk about his plight, was dissipating. Jonathan gripped the steering wheel harder, turning onto their street.

“He was in the hospital for months,” Andrew continued. “And he didn’t even know you were going to apply to be an orderly, so it’s not like he was laying a trap or anything. And besides, Cordelia said it was him and she should know better than anyone. I trust her.” He turned a troubled look to Jonathan. “Don’t you think it’s really Dennis?”

“I don’t know,” Jonathan admitted. “I want to believe, but it’s just so impossible. At this point, I don’t know what would convince me.”

He pulled into the complex parking lot and guided the car into their space. He would have to see about getting a disabled pass or something so they could get Dennis to the car easier. A collapsible wheelchair would fit into the large trunk, though just barely. They may have to do some finagling.

“What do your instincts say?” Andrew asked, climbing out of the car.

“They say not to trust something that’s too good to be true,” Jonathan said. He sighed. “But something else says… I just want something to go right for a change.”

“Then listen to the something else,” Andrew advised.

Jonathan bit his lip. “Okay.” He would take this one day at a time, not let himself get too relaxed just in case. He wasn’t ready for completely blind faith. But for this moment he was willing to go along with it because what alternative was there? Hopelessness.

“He’ll need the master bedroom,” Jonathan said as Andrew unlocked the front door. He looked around; the living room was open enough for a wheelchair to get around, and the hallway was definitely big enough. The bathroom would prove a little trickier, but Dennis taking the master bedroom would at least mean he would have access to a toilet when he needed it.

Andrew nodded. “Of course. You two will be sharing.”

Jonathan nearly choked on thin air. “W-what? No? Of course we won’t be, why -?”

Andrew gave him a strange look. “But why...? Oh, I suppose it’ll be cramped in there with his wheelchair and everything. And if he needs any monitoring machines or anything. But where will you sleep?”

“I’m tired of couches,” Jonathan said. “Your bed’s big enough for two people, so we can share until we figure out a more long-term solution.”

Andrew gasped, scandalized. “I can’t share my bed with another man’s boyfriend.”

“What?!” Jonathan yelped. “I’m not -” He remembered that people in the building were probably sleeping and lowered his voice to a regular conversational tone. “We’re not - we haven’t - I’m not his  _ boyfriend _ .”

Andrew blinked owlishly at him. “But…”

Jonathan shook his head. “Forget I told you about...about that, okay. I don’t know if things will be the same now or not, so I’d rather just drop it until things are a little more normal. He can barely walk, for Christ’s sake!”

“Fine,” Andrew pouted. “We can share. But if Dennis gets jealous, you’re sleeping somewhere else. I don’t want him to think I’m some sort of mistress.”

“He won’t,” Jonathan insisted, but he felt rattled. Andrew had just assumed things between Jonathan and Dennis would pick up where they left off - or would progress to a new stage, even. It had just been about sex. Boyfriends, though… That indicated a relationship. With feelings. Did Jonathan have...those sorts of feelings for Dennis?

He wasn’t sure. He  _ liked _ Dennis as a friend. Wasn’t that enough for now? The guy could barely say three words in a row.

In the end, they didn’t have to change much in the apartment, other than moving things around to create wider spaces. Jonathan was still way too energized by the time he laid down on top of his blankets. He tossed and turned for hours, trying not to dwell on how casually Andrew had said the word ‘boyfriend.’

Around 5:30, Jonathan finally drifted off to sleep. At 7:30, his alarm went off, pulling him out of a fitful sleep. He wasn’t sure what he had dreamed of but it involved the smell of graveyard dirt and the sense that he couldn’t breathe. He stumbled towards the shower, eager to wash away the sweat and nausea caused by bad dreams on top of the stress of last night.

If Andrew slept at all, Jonathan couldn’t have said. He was just as buzzing with energy as he had been last night, though now his eyes were red and puffy from exhaustion. Jonathan mumbled something that may have been ‘good morning’ at Andrew as he poured them two bowls of Count Chocula. Andrew wandered off to shower after downing his cereal in three seconds flat, leaving Jonathan to sit on the edge of the living room couch, fidgeting. He tried to think what they would need, but the only things that came to mind would have to be supplied by Angel Investigations. What he would have to explain was why it had taken him weeks to realise who the John Doe really was.

The phone rang, jerking Jonathan out of his worries. “Hello?”

“It’s Cordelia. Are you guys meeting us at the hotel or the hospital?”

Jonathan glanced at his watch: to get to the hospital by nine, they’d have to leave right away to make it to the hotel first. “I think we’ll meet you at the hospital. We’ll call your cell phone when we get there.”

“Be there on time,” Cordelia warned then hung up.

Jonathan put the phone back in the cradle and pounded on the bathroom door. “Hurry up. Dennis is waiting!”

“I know! I’m hurrying!” A thump behind the closed door made Jonathan wince. A few minutes later Andrew stumbled out of the bathroom, pulling a shirt on over soaking wet hair. “Ready,” he said even though he wasn’t even wearing any shoes.

Jonathan had forgone his scrubs for the time being. The plan as he figured it would be to show up at the hospital with the others, explain the situation to the nurse on duty (probably Drekker, he hoped), bring Dennis home, and then once Dennis was settled, Jonathan would return to the hospital at three for the start of his shift. He would be dead on his feet by evening (and his shift wouldn’t end until eleven) but he would do his best to power through. He was still too fresh to have accrued any sick days.

Jonathan liked plans. Unfortunately, as he knew all too well, they often went awry.

\---

Jonathan and Andrew arrived at the hospital by 8:50 and had found parking within a few minutes. Jonathan tried to call the others while they were still in the parking garage, but there was no reception until they reached the hospital proper. By which time there was no point, as he could see the others sweeping through the main lobby towards the stairs.

“Cordy!” Andrew called.

The others turned around and waited for Jonathan and Andrew to catch up. Together they headed for the fifth floor, showing up just as the doors were unlocked for the day. As Jonathan had anticipated, it was Nurse Drekker in charge, supervising the staff and the patients. She looked surprised to see Jonathan this early - in street clothes and flanked by a group of people who all looked very imposing and out of place on this ward. “Can I help you with something?” she asked, not sure if she should be talking to Jonathan or Cordelia, who had stepped up to the reception desk.

“I’m looking for my brother, Dennis Chase,” Cordelia announced grandly. She sounded like she was talking to an audience for a play or something: loud and dramatic. “Jonathan told me he was admitted here as a John Doe.”

Angel passed Cordelia a folder. “We brought any documents you might need. Birth certificate and all that.”

“We only have one John Doe on the ward right now,” Nurse Drekker said warily, looking from Cordelia to Jonathan and back. Jonathan tried not to let his apprehension show; he knew that Dennis and Cordelia looked nothing alike, but they were all banking on blase confidence overriding any objections. In the twenty-first century you weren’t supposed to point out that two people claiming to be siblings were clearly not even the same race. That would make you the racist one.

“It’s Johnny,” Jonathan said, stepping up next to Cordelia. “I went to school with Cordelia here and didn’t really know her brother very well since he was a couple years above us. Um, but then it clicked because he, uh, I mean Cordy mentioned her brother was missing and I knew he looked familiar and all so I sent her a picture of Johnny and she said it was him. He’s been missing for months.”

He clamped his mouth shut, aware that he was babbling.

Cordelia’s eyes filled with tears. “I can’t believe my big brother was here this whole time.” She sniffled dramatically.

Drekker glanced up at the rest of the team. Fortunately, Lorne had stayed home, but Gunn was enough to stand out. “And the rest of you…?”

“We’re Cordy’s friends,” Fred piped up. “We’ve been helping her look for Dennis. We’re just here for emotional support.”

Drekker nodded brusquely, seeming to regain her balance. “Miss Chase, if you’ll come this way. I know you want to see your brother immediately, but there are a few things the doctor should talk to you about first. If you can bring that file, we’ll just step into this office over here…”

Cordelia waved her away. “If it’s about the amnesia, Jonathan already told me about it. I’m all prepared, you can just -”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t ‘just.’ The doctor does need to speak to you first. You can discuss with him about regular visits and -”

“No, you don’t understand,” Cordelia said firmly. “I’m taking him home with me.”

There was a strained silence following this pronouncement. At last Drekker gave her an awkward smile. “The doctor can help you sort that all out. If you’ll step this way?”

Finally Cordelia relented. She stepped towards the office Nurse Drekker had indicated, but before she got too far she shot Jonathan a pointed look.

Startled, Jonathan glanced behind him as if expecting to see someone else standing there. “You want me to come with you?”

Cordelia rolled her eyes. “Duh. Yes.”

Jonathan looked at Drekker as if to ask if that was allowed. Drekker shrugged, clearly wanting this to be out of her hands so she could tend to her patients. Jonathan followed Cordelia into the office and Angel brought up the rear. Nurse Drekker said something about the doctor being with them soon and hurried out again.

“Why am I in here?” Jonathan hissed at Cordelia. He wanted to be out in the ward, hoping that Dennis would come out of his room and wait with them.

“You know this hospital better than any of us. And maybe if the doctor sees we’ve got professional help he’ll let Dennis come home,” Cordelia explained as if talking to a small child.

“I’m just an orderly!” Jonathan protested. “And hardly a professional one. I’ve only been with the hospital for a few weeks.”

“Then  _ act _ like a professional,” Cordelia said.

Jonathan flopped into one of the chairs facing the doctor’s desk; Cordelia sat in the other one, giving him a reproachful look. Angel hovered behind them, looking way too big and awkward in this confined space.

They waited for what felt like forever before the doctor arrived - a middle-aged man Jonathan had barely said two words to before. His harried gaze travelled over Jonathan and Cordelia as if they weren’t even there before settling on Angel. He held out his hand. “I’m Doctor Freeman. I understand you have news about our John Doe?”

Angel looked at the hand in front of him then looked at Cordelia. He didn’t shake it. He instead pointed to Cordelia and said, “Talk to her. I’m just here for her.”

Doctor Freeman flashed a tight smile. “I’m terribly sorry.” He held out his hand to Cordelia instead, who took it as if it were a piece of raw meat. “You believe John Doe 3558 is your brother?”

“Jonathan showed me a picture of him,” Cordelia said. “It’s my brother, Dennis.”

Doctor Freeman sat down behind his desk. “My nurse says that you have brought his legal documents. That’s all well and good, but as this patient has memory problems, you must understand that it would be negligent of us to just take your word for it. Otherwise what would stop someone else from coming in here and claiming he was their son or uncle or second-cousin?”

Jonathan’s stomach twisted. How on earth were they going to prove that Dennis was who they said he was.

Cordelia, however, just smiled her most winning smile. “We completely agree. Fortunately, I was holding onto his passport for safekeeping. I have a fireproof safe where I keep important documents.” She pulled a small, rectangular object out of the folder and slid it across the desk to the doctor.

Jonathan tried not to stare. How the hell had they managed to find a picture of Dennis and also edit it to look like a modern picture instead of from the 1930s?  _ And _ get a fake passport made up in just a few hours? Cordelia leaned across the desk - and oh, maybe her shirt was just a little lower cut than normal - and tapped the name under the photo. “Dennis P-Chase. Two years older than me. Here’s his birth certificate. Actually, his birthday’s coming up soon.” She rolled right over the fumble as if it had never happened. Doctor Freeman didn’t seem to notice.

“Well,” he said, studying the birth certificate and passport. He looked up and flashed a smile at Cordelia. “You certainly thought ahead. I agree, this passport photo certainly does look like our Johnny. Do you happen to have any pictures of the two of you together? Perhaps family photos?”

Cordelia glanced down at her lap. If Jonathan wasn’t in on the truth, he would have believed she was really ashamed. “I’m afraid not. You see, our parents were convicted of embezzlement a few years ago, and the police took  _ everything _ . Even our family photos. It was horrible. There was nothing left, and then when we both moved to L.A. we didn’t bring much of anything with us. I do have our old yearbooks, though, if you want me to go home and get them. Dennis looked so handsome in his senior photo.” She smiled self-deprecatingly. “It was a little vain of me to insist on keeping the yearbooks, but I like to look at the pictures of when I used to be beautiful.”

Jonathan had to bite his tongue to keep himself from snorting out loud.

Doctor Freeman looked her over then seemed to catch himself. “Oh, but you’re still very lovely,” he said, looking vaguely uncomfortable. “No, there’s no need for you to bring them in. I was thinking they might help jog Dennis’ memory, you see.”

“You’re too kind. Yes, that makes absolute sense.”

Jonathan chanced a look back at Angel, who was absolutely wooden faced. Jonathan couldn’t tell if he was on the verge of shouting or laughing.

Doctor Freeman cleared his throat. “I’m very sorry for your losses, Miss Chase. To have your brother go missing on top of all that must have been very stressful.”

Cordelia plucked a tissue out of the box on Freeman’s desk and dabbed her eyes. “It was.”

“I’ll go bring him in, then.” Doctor Freeman stood up and walked out of the room, glancing back twice at Cordelia and nearly running into the doorframe.

Once he was truly gone, Jonathan glared at Cordelia. “You didn’t need me in here at all,” he accused.

“I wasn’t sure that was going to work.” Cordelia shrugged. “Besides, I don’t consider this successful until he’s buckled into the Plymouth and on his way home.”

Angel snorted. “Couldn’t you have done that in a less revealing top?”

Cordelia scowled at him. “Oh please. You saw the way he didn’t even look at me at first. He saw you as the man in the room and the one to deal with. I could have been topless and he still would have gone straight to you.”

Jonathan wasn’t paying attention; he was still stuck on the fact that Cordelia had specified Dennis would be riding home in the Plymouth. “Why -?”

He was interrupted by Kelly wheeling Dennis into the room, followed by Doctor Freeman. “Thank you, that will be all,” Freeman said, dismissing Kelly without a second glance. Kelly shot Jonathan a curious look but he couldn’t stay to chat; he had other things to attend to.

Dennis, for his part, was doing his best to play the part of the amnesiac brother. He smiled and waved at Jonathan, then looked curiously at Cordelia. He cocked his head, as if seeing something vaguely familiar.

“M...ma…” he tried.

“That’s it, Jo- Dennis,” Doctor Freeman said. “Do you know who this is?”

“M...om?”

Angel had to quickly turn a snort of laughter into a cough; Cordelia glared daggers at her “brother.” Jonathan subtly bit his lip to keep from laughing out loud. “No, sweetie,” Cordelia said with exaggerated patience. “It’s your dear and loving sister, remember?”

Dennis studied her gravely, the very picture of someone trying to remember a name niggling at the back of their mind. His mouth worked for a moment before he whispered, “C...ordy?”

Cordelia beamed at him, then shot a snide look at Doctor Freeman, who looked shocked. “Satisfied now?”

“That’s amazing,” Doctor Freeman said, recovering himself. “He’s been with us for weeks and this is the first sign he has shown of recognising anything. It gives me hope that having familiar people around, especially family, will have an impact on his recovery. Memory has been the only area he hasn’t shown any progress. We can discuss the option of daily visits if your schedule will allow it, or -”

“We’ll be signing Dennis out of this place,” Cordelia said sweetly. “He’s not crazy.”

Doctor Freeman took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Jo- I mean Dennis needs complete, around-the-clock care. He’s made tremendous strides from where he once was, but he can’t walk on his own. There have been other, more sensitive issues in the past related to muscle control. He requires speech and physical therapy, as well as monitoring how well his memory is coming back, if at all. His immune system is growing, but it’s by no means safe for him to be out among the general public just yet. Miss Chase, your brother requires highly specialized care and -”

“So we will give it to him,” Cordelia said in that tone that reminded Jonathan of a steel trap. If Doctor Freeman wasn’t careful he’d end up having to chew his own leg off to survive. “We can arrange home visits for the speech and physical therapists. There’ll be plenty of us there to provide whatever help he needs. Six of us live at the place where we’re taking him.”

“You’re taking him back to the hotel?” Jonathan demanded, unable to stay quiet at that revelation. “But...but he was going to live with me and Andrew!”

Cordelia gave him a warning look. “Why would you assume that?” she asked through a tight smile.

“Because he -” But Jonathan couldn’t mention the roommate thing; he wasn’t supposed to have seen Dennis in years. “I don’t know, I just thought with how busy the hotel gets…”

Doctor Freeman raised an eyebrow. “Hotel?”

“It  _ used _ to be a hotel,” Cordelia said. “It’s not anymore.”

“We run our business out of it. There’s someone there pretty much 24/7,” Angel said. He slid one of his business cards across the desk to Freeman, who studied it with a frown.

“Private investigation? I’m sorry, I’m just not sure this would be a good environment for Dennis’ recovery. Perhaps if he stays here at the hospital just long enough to-”

“Angel, are we legally allowed to sign Dennis out of here if he says he wants to go?” Cordelia asked, overriding the doctor’s protests.

“I’m not a lawyer,” Angel protested.

“But we sure could get one here in a hurry if we needed to,” Cordelia said. “I think Wes still has Lilah’s number.”

Doctor Freeman held up placating hands. “Okay. There’s no need to involve lawyers. I can get the paperwork ready that says you are taking Dennis out of the hospital against my recommendations. You’ll be legally responsible for his well-being.”

Cordelia beamed at him. “Perfect! Dennis, is this what you want?”

Dennis nodded his head. “Home,” he said simply.

Doctor Freeman stood up. “Very well. Stay right here, I will be back with the paperwork.”

As soon as he was out of earshot, Jonathan rounded on Cordelia. “You can’t take him back to the hotel,” he whispered fiercely. “He’ll be in danger there and can hardly move to save himself.”

Cordelia stared at him, bewildered. “What did you expect? You’re going to take him back to your place? It’s not going to be like before, you know. He’s got an actual physical form now, and needs food and a bed and other stuff. There’ll be six of us at the hotel, instead of just you and Andrew, plus we’ve got an extra room for him.”

“Yeah, but…” Jonathan faltered. What could he say? They’d just assumed…

Dennis cleared his throat, causing the others to look at him. “My….say?” he asked mildly.

Jonathan’s heart jolted. “Of course you get a say. Right, Cordy?”

“Sure,” Cordelia said. “Hotel or apartment?”

Dennis looked at Jonathan. “Home. Fam...iliar.”

Jonathan shot Cordelia a ‘so there!’ look. It didn’t matter if Dennis was only choosing the apartment because it was what he was more used to; it still felt like he was choosing Jonathan (and Andrew) over Cordelia. And that made him feel happy in ways it really shouldn’t have. “We’ve got everything all set up for you,” he promised Dennis. “And anything you need we can get.”

Of course there was just the small matter of money….

“We’ll help fund whatever you need,” Angel said, though it looked like it pained him to utter the words.

Dennis looked a little overwhelmed. He shot a glance from Jonathan to Cordelia to Angel. “So...m-much,” he said. “Thank….y-you.”

Jonathan shrugged, blushing. “It’s no big deal,” he mumbled.

“Ditto what Jonathan said,” Cordelia agreed. “Don’t even worry about it. We’re going to get you all better and figure out how this even happened in the first place.”

“Oh shit, that reminds me,” Angel said, fumbling for something in his pocket. He produced a small stone etched with magic runes. “Wes made this for you, Dennis. Just hold onto it for about thirty seconds or so.” He placed the stone in Dennis’ hand.

Jonathan peered at the magic runes. They were mostly for truth and identity, plus a couple for healing. Dennis held onto the stone, bewildered. After nearly forty-five seconds, it glowed white.

Cordelia glanced at Angel. “Human?”

Angel nodded. “That’s what Wesley said.” He snatched the stone back. “Sorry. We had to make sure.”

Dennis nodded. “Under...st-and.”

Something in Jonathan’s chest untwisted - something he hadn’t even realised until then was still twisted from last night. He trusted Wesley’s magic for the most part. This was really Dennis, alive and whole, just like he had claimed.

Angel slid the stone back in his pocket. “We still don’t know the how or why, but we’ll get in touch with Willow and see what she thinks.”

Doctor Freeman returned at that moment with the paperwork and all of Dennis’ charts. “We’ve got quite a bit of ground to cover,” he said. “Dennis has made a lot of progress since being admitted, but there is still a ways to go.”

Dennis caught Jonathan’s eye and gave him a pleading look. He pointed to the office door. “Um, do you need Dennis in here for all this?” Jonathan asked Freeman.

Freeman frowned. “Well, I suppose not quite yet. He should be here for the consultation of what he’ll need at home.”

“You’ll need to be here for that too, Jonathan,” Angel said. “Since he’ll be living in your home.”

“Oh. Right,” Jonathan said. Dennis made a face. “We’ll just take a quick walk?”

They escaped before anyone could protest or say more than to make sure they were back in about half an hour. Jonathan pushed Dennis’ wheelchair to where the others were waiting impatiently.

“Well?” Andrew demanded.

Jonathan told them everything that had gone on in the room, including the stone’s verification of Dennis’ humanity and the argument about where Dennis would be living. Fred looked like she might protest Dennis’ choice but she managed to hold her tongue. “Your stone worked, by the way,” Jonathan informed Wesley. “He’s human.”

“That’s great!” Andrew said. “But didn’t we know that already?”

“We had to be sure,” Wesley said. “I hope you understand, Dennis. It’s not that we don’t trust you.”

Dennis shrugged. He didn’t look terribly bothered by the test; Jonathan was reasonably sure he understood how dangerous his friends’ lives were and why they had to take precautions. How many times had Cordelia or one of the others - including Jonathan and Andrew - been patched up by Dennis himself?

“We’re supposed to go back in there in a few minutes, I guess,” Jonathan told them. “We just wanted to get out of there for a little while.”

“Cramped,” Dennis agreed.

“You’ve been the talk of the town out here,” Fred told him. “Rumours are flying.”

Jonathan glanced around the ward; while most people were going about as if nothing were unusual, there were several people - especially patients - who were watching them with avid interest.

Cordelia poked her head out of Doctor Freeman’s office. “Dennis, Jonathan, Andrew - you should all get in here.”

The remainder of the consultation took nearly two hours. There were pages and pages of documents, instructions, referrals, and other odds and ends that left Jonathan overloaded with information. Where and when Dennis had to wear his surgical mask, who to call if he started displaying strange symptoms, the phone numbers to set up home appointments for speech therapy and outside appointments for physical therapy, how to get a collapsible wheelchair to use. Jonathan would have to apply for a disability permit for his car so Dennis would have an easier time loading and unloading. There was so much to do that for a desperate moment Jonathan was convinced they had made a huge mistake.

But Dennis just nodded along to everything, clearly pleased with his choice, and Andrew seemed to be taking the huge amounts of information in stride. Dennis caught Jonathan’s eye and shot him a happy smile. Jonathan pushed his worries aside; they would make this work. And it wouldn’t be like this forever. Dennis would get better with time.

“Any questions?” Doctor Freeman asked when they finally wound down and after having them sign over a dozen pieces of paper.

So, so many questions, but Jonathan didn’t know where to start. And most of them couldn’t be answered by this man who probably didn’t have the slightest clue that something supernatural had happened right under his very nose. Jonathan shook his head and the others followed suit.

“Well, if you think of any, please feel free to call me or this number here,” he circled a number for the hospital on one of the many pieces of paper and placed it on top of the whole pile, which went into a neatly labelled manila folder. Doctor Freeman stood and held out his hand to Dennis. “Mr. Chase. It’s been a pleasure having you on our ward.”

Dennis snorted and Jonathan bit his lip to stop from smirking. The nurses would no doubt miss Dennis’ cheerfulness but they wouldn’t mourn the loss of his temper tantrums. Nonetheless, Dennis took the doctor’s hand and shook it as firmly as he could. Freeman gestured for them to precede him out the office door; Jonathan once more took control of Dennis’ wheelchair and pushed him out into the main lobby.

In their absence, a few of the patients had raided the art supply cabinet and drawn up a few hurried banners that read BYE JOHNNY or GOOD LUCK. When they saw Dennis emerge from Doctor Freeman’s office, a small cheer went up. A patient Jonathan barely knew (he thought her name is something strange like Shivan or Sibban - he never got the hang of how to spell or pronounce it) stood at the front of the group, waving to Dennis, who beamed at her. They hugged awkwardly with Dennis still in his chair.

“We’re going to miss you!” the girl said.

“M-miss...you,” Dennis replied. “S..tay out of t-t-roub-le.”

Jonathan pushed Dennis out of the ward for the final time and they headed as a group for the parking lot. “You can still come home to the hotel,” Cordelia told Dennis when they prepared to head for different cars.

Dennis shook his head. “Th..anks.”

Andrew helped Dennis sit down in the front passenger seat while Jonathan quickly handed over the wheelchair to the orderly who had followed them out. The wheelchair was hospital property, and they would have to purchase one of their own for home use. Jonathan slid into the driver’s seat and Andrew hopped in the back. “Ready?”

Dennis nodded eagerly. “Home!”

The ride back to the apartment was about as easy as daytime traffic in L.A. ever was. Dennis had plenty of time to stare around him in wide wonder. This was the first time he was seeing the city in more than fifty years, other than a cemetery in the dead of night. Jonathan imagined he was trying to reconcile what he knew with what he saw. They were stopped at a light about ten blocks from home when Jonathan happened to glance at Dennis and realised he was crying.

“W-what’s wrong?” Jonathan demanded, keeping one eye on the light and one eye on Dennis.

Dennis brushed the tears away impatiently. “For..got,” he said as if this explained anything.

Andrew popped his head between the front seats. “Are you okay?” he asked. “What did you forget?”

“Home...gone.”

The light turned green and Jonathan eased forward. “Well...yeah. That’s what started this whole thing, remember? We’re taking you to our new apartment.”

Dennis nodded, staring out the side window. “Remember now.” He shrugged as if it didn’t matter, then tapped his heart. “Com...plicated.”

Jonathan frowned at the cars around him, wishing he could turn to face Dennis right now. “Are you going to be okay? Would you rather go to the hotel?”

Dennis shook his head vehemently. “No. Just….mourn...ing. Home gone. N-new home.” He sighed, sounding frustrated.

“Sorry,” Jonathan muttered, not sure what he was apologizing for. Maybe it was just this whole situation: Dennis being ripped from his childhood home and now couldn’t even express the complicated emotions it made him feel that his home was also his deathbed.

Dennis didn’t respond for a few minutes. Then the next sound he made was a soft gasp as he turned in his seat to watch a dog trotting along the sidewalk with her owner. He whispered something under his breath; if Jonathan strained his hearing just right he could hear Dennis reciting different animals: “Dogs, cats, birds, hamsters, rats, chinchilla” in his broken and halting way. Then his eyes widened and he cried, “Data!”

“Data as in our cat?” Andrew asked.

“Meet Data!” The prospect of getting to see the cat he had only been able to sense and barely interact with seemed to have cheered Dennis up immeasurably.

“What was it like being on a psych ward?” Andrew asked. “What kind of food did you eat? Was it as gross as TV claims it is? Did you like your doctors and nurses? Who was that girl who hugged you when you left? How-”

The rest of the ride was taken up by Andrew’s dam of questions bursting forth, while Dennis struggled to answer them as best he could. By the time Jonathan pulled into their assigned parking space, Dennis’ tears had dried up but now they had a new problem to face: how were they going to get Dennis into the apartment without a wheelchair?

The answer turned out to be: very slowly.

Between Andrew and Jonathan, they were able to hold most of Dennis’ weight as he concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. They probably could have carried him between them, but Dennis insisted on at least attempting to walk. It was slow going, but at last they made it to the front door and into the apartment. Data came running up to greet them, not at all perturbed by this unexpected “stranger.” He mewled and wound around Dennis’ feet, nearly tripping them all until Andrew let go of Dennis to snatch up the cat instead. Jonathan helped Dennis the last few yards to the living room, where he could collapse onto the couch.

Jonathan glanced at his watch. It was nearly noon. Jonathan had a few hours yet before work and there was a lot to start getting done. The others were going to run by the hotel to pick up Lorne and make sure there were no emergencies before coming over to help get Dennis settled (though Jonathan suspected having that many people around would be more of a hindrance than a help). Cordelia had said something about shopping, too, so at least Dennis would be well dressed.

In the meantime, they needed sustenance. “What do you feel like for lunch?” he asked Dennis. Andrew came over and placed Data on Dennis’ lap. They all watched as the cat sniffed Dennis thoroughly, purring and kneading and generally making a big show of himself before curling up as Dennis pet him with clumsy hands. “Um, any..th-thing.”

Andrew regarded him solemnly. “You haven’t been able to eat real food for weeks. I could make something from scratch - like maybe turkey and bacon paninis? Or burritos? I think we have everything we would need. Or we can order out: chinese food, pizza, Italian, sushi, fried chicken, Thai food, um… oh, there’s an Ethiopian place near here. Or if you want something else I bet we can find it.”

Dennis looked overwhelmed. He sent a pleading glance at Jonathan, silently begging him to make a choice instead. “Um, I guess...how about Chinese food?” It would be easier for Dennis to eat than a panini or pizza - he hoped.

“Great! I’ll go grab the menu.” Andrew disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Dennis and Jonathan alone for the moment. Jonathan sat down next to him on the couch, ostensibly so that he could reach over and rub Data’s ears.

“We, uh, you’re going to be in the master bedroom. We think it’s big enough to move a wheelchair around in. After lunch arrives and the others get here, we’ll figure out where we can get you one. Um, if you need anything just let us know. We tried our best to make everything as accessible as possible, but we don’t, uh, really know what we’re doing.” He didn’t meet Dennis’ eyes through all this. Dennis was so close - so warm. It was disconcerting. The last time Dennis had been anything other than freezing cold, it was because he was the First. But this was no demon, they now knew.

Dennis stopped petting Data long enough to take Jonathan’s hand and squeeze it. Jonathan looked up, startled. Dennis smiled at him, eyes full of gratitude and delight. He didn’t need to say thank you out loud - Jonathan could read it in his eyes. He ducked his head, blushing. “You’re welcome,” he mumbled. “It’s the least we could do after, you know, accidentally resurrecting you.”

Dennis snorted, letting go of Jonathan’s hand. Andrew bounced back into the living room, brandishing no less than five Chinese food menus. “Pick a place, any place,” Andrew cried, fanning the menus out like a deck of cards he was going to perform a magic trick with. Bam, presto, food delivered right to your living room. As tricks went, it was a good one, if a bit common.

Jonathan settled back into his seat, ignoring the way Dennis’ touch made his heart leap. It was just his happiness that Dennis was back where he belonged, he told himself.

He almost believed it.


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've officially finished writing this story (39 chapters total) and will continue to post 1 per week until the end! AHHHH I'm so glad to have finished such a monster of a fic!
> 
> Warnings: a few uses of the r-word, very casually dropped in there I'm sorry.

Doctors appointment, therapy appointments (at home and away from home), wheelchair, handicapped parking permit, walking cane, reach extenders, a chair that could be quickly installed in the tub so Dennis could take a shower while sitting down: all of this and more was dropped suddenly and hectically into Andrew and Jonathan’s laps. They dashed around making sure Dennis had everything he needed and then some. The rest of the Angel Investigations team helped out as much as they could, driving Dennis to this appointment or assisting with that strength exercise. Jonathan requested evening or night shifts as much as possible so he had the day free to take care of as much as he could. At first it felt like they were drowning with the amount of stuff that needed to be done, but little by little they found themselves keeping their heads above water.

Dennis continued to show improvement. Every day he was able to stand a little longer, walk a little further, grip a little harder. He puttered around in his wheelchair sometimes, but mostly while he was at home he preferred to totter around on shaky legs even if it meant resting twice as often. The day he was able to stand at the kitchen sink for a full fifteen minutes while loading the dishwasher was a feat that left him exhausted but deliriously happy.

Outside the house, he still always used his wheelchair. This started out mostly as just trips to the physical therapist or doctors, but soon extended into excursions to the nearby park or grocery trips or even venturing to the little comic book shop or library. Jonathan or Andrew would walk beside Dennis as he pushed his wheelchair to the car and climbed in; the wheelchair folded up and went into the trunk (the first few tries had been epic disasters but they finally found an angle that let the trunk shut fully), and they were off to whatever destination they had in mind.

Dennis got odd looks in public - some sympathetic, some scornful - but he ignored them all. He kept himself to himself and smiled generously at people who scowled at him. One little girl in the park whose mother was trying to stop from staring openly was delighted when Dennis started making grotesque faces at her. “Like Professor X!” Andrew had pointed out cheerfully. Dennis always seemed to retain his sense of humour and magnanimity until he reached a breaking point Jonathan didn’t even know he had.

Jonathan and Dennis were at the grocery, picking out food for the week. Normally this was Andrew’s forte, but Jonathan had the day off and wanted to get out of the house, so he took Andrew’s meticulous shopping list, loaded up Dennis, and drove them to the supermarket. They got some curious looks as Jonathan pulled into one of the handicapped spots and stepped out of the car clearly not handicapped in the least. He ignored them and got the wheelchair out for Dennis, who was already limping out of the passenger seat.

Jonathan took charge of the shopping cart while Dennis rolled beside him, the shopping list tucked under his leg where it would not fly away. Dennis guided Jonathan through the aisles, pointing to the items they needed. Andrew was very specific about what brands to get and had included annotations about why Prego was better than Ragu for spaghetti sauce, among other things. They moved slowly but steadily throughout the grocery, taking their time so as not to overwhelm Dennis.

The thing was, he was still having a really difficult time with his speech. Words came out slurred, broken, or sometimes not at all. If he tried to speak fast enough to keep up with his thoughts, he would get frustrated and angry. The frustration would cause his speech to get worse and it started a cycle of impediments that usually resulted in Dennis giving up and going into a sulk for hours. His therapist encouraged him to relax and try to let the words come out naturally - speed would come with practice, she said. But Dennis was impatient. He’d been speechless for decades; he was now ready for the world to hear what he had to say. Unfortunately, the world wasn’t ready to be patient enough to listen.

So Jonathan and Dennis were in the pasta aisle, looking at a bewildering assortment of pastas. Andrew’s notes specified that he wanted farfale (“Just say ‘bowtie’ if you mean bowtie,” Jonathan had protested), macaroni, and penne lisce, whatever the hell that was. Jonathan was trying to figure out what the difference was between penne lisce and penne rigate, while Dennis watched with amusement.

“I’m just saying,” Jonathan said with a scowl. “We’ve got penne rigate right here. What the hell is so special about penne lisce?” He pronounced it like ‘penny lice’ mostly out of spite.

Dennis giggled. “Ri...gat-e is…” He made a wavy motion with his hand. “Holds...sauce...bet-ter.”

“Then why does Andrew want the stuff that doesn’t hold sauce?” Jonathan complained. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

Dennis looked like he was struggling to hold back a grin as he said. “May...be he...likes….h-his p...asta smooooooth.”

Jonathan raised an eyebrow at Dennis’ tone, which just barely bordered on suggestive. “I don’t want to know.” He sighed and put the penne rigate back. “Okay where the hell is this penne lisce?”

Dennis scanned the shelves then pointed to something on the second shelf from the top. Jonathan pretended to reach for the wrong thing just to be contrary (seriously, it was just pasta) but Dennis shook his head and gestured again. Jonathan moved his hand to the right, eliciting a groan. Not that one. Jonathan was about to move to the other side when a stage whisper caught his ear. He’d been so involved in the pasta he didn’t know someone was nearby until they said, “-later. This retard is going to take forever.”

Jonathan’s hand froze; out of the corner of his eye he saw Dennis’ face fall. He had looked so happy a minute ago, and now he was on the verge of tears.

Fury built up in Jonathan’s chest. He whipped around just in time to catch the eye of the person who had spoken. It was some guy in his mid to late twenties, talking into his mobile phone as he sidled past them down the aisle. He had a handbasket dangling from his free hand, loaded mostly with a six-pack of beer and cheap food of the type one would expect from a bachelor who never really learned to cook.

“The fuck did you just say?” Jonathan demanded before the guy could walk away.

The guy looked surprised. “Hold on a sec,” he said into the phone. He lowered it to his side, addressing Jonathan. “I didn’t mean anything by it, dude. It’s cool, I’ll just come back later.”

“Okay,” Jonathan agreed. “But before you go, I’d like you to apologize to my friend.”

“What? I didn’t… look, I’m sorry I offended you, dude,” the guy said, but he was still looking solely at Jonathan. He didn’t even glance at Dennis. “It’s no big deal.”

“It’s a big deal to me,” Jonathan said. His whole body trembled with anger. Once upon a time he wouldn’t have imagined standing up to a guy like this. But he was a whole different person than who he had been three years ago. Or even a year ago. Hell, even three months ago. “And it’s a big deal to Dennis, who isn’t a retard by the way. And even if he was, so what? Just because you don’t think they understand what the word means doesn’t mean they can’t tell it’s rude from the context.” In the back of his mind were the patients whom he had come to know and how they could tell the words they didn’t know were still designed to hurt them. “Dennis was in a really bad accident that messed him up, but he’s getting better. Used to be he couldn’t speak at all. And the only way he’s going to keep getting better is if people keep encouraging him and don’t put him down because he speaks slowly!”

“Jonathan…” Dennis whispered. It was one of the longest words he could say without stammering, since he said it with fair frequency.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” the guy protested again. “I said I was sorry.”

Jonathan just waited. The guy could have walked away but he didn’t. He stared at Jonathan until finally he looked down and then glanced just barely at Dennis. “Sorry. Hope you get better soon.” He was scowling and flushed, but it was still an apology.

“Thank you,” Dennis said quietly, the words clear and precise. The guy with the basket stormed off.

Jonathan grabbed a bag of pasta at random. “Let’s get out of here.”

The fun from earlier was gone, replaced by an uncomfortable silence. Jonathan was still fuming, and Dennis was trying to make himself as small as possible. He handed over the list to Jonathan, refusing to be in charge of it anymore. Jonathan threw the remaining groceries into the cart with more force than was necessary, and then steered them towards checkout.

Back at home, Andrew was in the middle of a hot video game battlefield, but he paused when he heard them come in. “Oooh, let me see what you got!” he cried, jumping up from the couch. “I - what’s wrong?”

Jonathan looked to Dennis, but Dennis had gone into one of his quiet moods. He would stay silent for hours, sinking deeper into a melancholic trance until something snapped him out. He shrugged and dropped his load of groceries onto the kitchen floor before rolling away to his bedroom, leaving Jonathan to explain what had happened. It left Jonathan with a bitter taste in his mouth.

Andrew listened in distress as Jonathan laid out the details. When it was finished, he immediately went down the hall to Dennis’ room to knock softly. Jonathan strained to listen but all he could hear was Andrew’s voice talking quietly on the other side of Dennis’ closed door. He finished putting the groceries away (it turned out he had grabbed penne lisce after all) and went into the living room to finish Andrew’s game for him.

Playing, however, proved only to be a minor distraction. He was still a bundle of nerves from the encounter, and his worry about Dennis holing up in his room didn’t help anything. He had accidentally gotten Andrew’s character killed four times by the time Andrew came back.

“How is he?” Jonathan asked before Andrew could see what he had done.

“He won’t talk at all,” Andrew said, fussing with a throw pillow as he plopped down next to Jonathan. “What time does Patty get here?”

Patty, Dennis’ kind but stern speech therapist, came four days a week to work with him, much to Dennis’ eternal frustration. Jonathan checked his watch. “Not for another forty-five minutes.”

“Do you think he’ll be okay by then?”

Jonathan tossed the video controller onto the coffee table. “I hope so.” He didn’t know what could make Dennis feel better - short of somehow miraculously getting control of his body back.

“Maybe you should talk to him,” Andrew suggested with a look of feigned innocence.

Jonathan gave him a suspicious look. For the last few weeks Andrew had been dropping increasingly unsubtle hints that he expected Jonathan and Dennis to...well, Jonathan wasn’t sure exactly. Hook up? Declare their undying and passionate love for each other? Go on a romantic date with flowers and chocolates and a little goodnight kiss at the front door? “Me? I don’t know what to say to him. Being called a retard at school didn’t bother me that much because I knew I was smart. It just made the bullies look stupid.” Midget, dork, pathetic, whiny, loser - all that had hurt like hell - but not retard. Besides, it wasn’t like Dennis had been bullied by a classmate; this was just some random guy he’d probably never see again.

Andrew shrugged. “He didn’t seem to want my company, though.”

Jonathan let out an aggrieved sigh. “Then why would he want mine?”

“Because you’re you?” Andrew said as if he couldn’t believe Jonathan would even need to ask. “You’re his hero - his saviour! You brought him back to life, gave him a second chance to walk again. Both literally and figuratively. You’re the one who found him and brought him home. You have an unbreakable bond.”

Jonathan shifted uncomfortably. Put like that, it felt like too much responsibility for one person to hold alone. “Brought him back to life into a body that doesn’t work,” he mumbled.

“And helping him get better every day,” Andrew reminded him. “He doesn’t blame you. He’s grateful.”

Jonathan stood up. He wasn’t sure how much more of Andrew’s pandering he could take. “Fine, I’ll go talk to him,” he said. He hoped he wasn’t about to make it worse.

Jonathan headed for Dennis’ closed bedroom door and knocked lightly, calling out “It’s me.” There was a shuffling sound that seemed to drag on forever, then the door snicked open. Dennis stood on the other side, holding onto the door for support. “Can I come in?”

Dennis nodded and stepped back. Jonathan came in and hovered awkwardly next to the door until Dennis gestured for him to sit on the bed. Jonathan perched on the edge, near the foot. Dennis’ exercise book lay open on the floor. “Were you doing the leg exercises?”

Dennis nodded again, then signed one word:  _ easier _ . Easier than what? Practicing speech?

“You’re not supposed to be using sign language,” Jonathan reminded him.

Dennis slumped. He walked carefully over to the bed and dropped down, so that he was leaning against the headboard. Jonathan shifted over until they were both sprawled out next to each other, shoulders just inches from contact. The headboard dug uncomfortably into his spine, but he ignored it.

“I’m sorry about that guy today,” Jonathan said quietly. “He was a jerk and he doesn’t know how far you’ve come. You’re doing so good for such a shitty situation, you know. I’m - I - Uh, we’re all really proud of you, ya know.” He swallowed. “Even Patty says you’re improving remarkably. She just doesn’t say it to your face because she doesn’t want you slacking off.”

Dennis let out a soft  _ whuff _ of laughter. He took Jonathan’s hand and gave it a tight squeeze. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“Don’t thank me,” Jonathan mumbled, embarrassed. He felt heat spark where their hands touched and he wanted to pull away or pull closer - he couldn’t decide which. “I’m the one who got you in this mess in the first place.”

Dennis gave his hand a reproachful tug. Jonathan looked up and met his gaze. “Don’t,” Dennis said firmly.

Jonathan licked his dry lips, suddenly unable to look away. “Don’t what?” he asked.

Dennis stared into his eyes as he carefully formed the words he wanted to say in his head before speaking them out loud, “Don’t...act like… you… didn’t g-give me...the b-be...st gift...ever.”

“Is it worth it?” Jonathan asked in a small voice.

“Every...day.”

Their eyes lingered for another second before Dennis looked away, eyes cast downward. Jonathan’s mind screamed with confusion. Before he could think, before he could fully process what his mind was trying to tell him, before he could lose his nerve, he jolted forward and kissed Dennis on the lips.

He pulled away almost immediately. “I - I - I’m - I…” he stammered.

Dennis’ hand on the back of his neck shut him up and then he was being pulled forward and they were kissing again and oh it was so incredibly awkward but good - good, yes, so good that Jonathan’s mind stopped working altogether.

Lips fumbled, teeth couldn’t seem to get out of the way, but after a moment they found something that worked. Dennis’ incoordination combined with Jonathan’s inexperience made for a rather bumpy kiss. Jonathan didn’t care. He opened his mouth and then Dennis’ tongue was against his and  _ oh god this was really happening _ .

Dennis broke the kiss first, panting for breath. Jonathan’s mind whirled with questions, apologies, and excuses. Dennis, however, was grinning.

“Wasn’t...sure you...would...w-want.”

Jonathan blushed. “Uh, I guess. I mean, I hadn’t really thought about it…” Lies, absolute lies. He had thought about what it would be like to kiss Dennis at least a dozen times. He just hadn’t expected himself to be the one to instigate - and he had figured Dennis would be further along on his road to recovery. “That..that was nice.”

Dennis gave him a concerned look. “You okay?”

Jonathan cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m… I’m fine, actually. I just… That was unexpected.”

Dennis tilted his head. “T-tell me.” He reached up and tapped Jonathan’s temple carefully, then stroked his hair out of his face.”

Jonathan blushed and looked down at his lap. If he pretended he couldn’t see Dennis, it was a bit like confiding in him when he was a ghost. “I, uh… Well, the thing is I know I’m definitely not gay. I - I told you that before, remember? Um, but I did wonder what kissing you would be like. And, um, if you… I mean, if we….” He sighed. “I told Andrew about you...you know...helping me out and stuff when you were still a ghost. I had to. I didn’t know you were actually alive. And of course he took it to mean we were like deeply in love with each other. I’m not,” he hastened to add. “I didn’t ever think of us as like, you know,  _ that _ . But then Andrew just acted like obviously we would just pick up where we left off and be, um, boyfriends, you know? But I don’t know what I want! Until two minutes ago I didn’t even know if I’d like kissing you because you’re a man. But I wondered. And I don’t know why I wondered because I don’t even know if I want to be your boyfriend!”

Jonathan took a deep breath and chanced a look at Dennis. He was watching with a look that conveyed gentleness and compassion - and just a hint of trepidation. It should have been reassuring but it was just frustrating. Jonathan let out a low gurgle that sounded almost like a growl. “Don’t you have any doubts or objections?” he demanded.

Dennis sighed softly. “Have...an hour?” he asked wryly.

Jonathan’s head jerked slightly in surprise. “That many?” he said.

Dennis shook his head. “Just.. a lot to...say.”

Jonathan sighed and looked at his watch. “Patty’s going to be here in ten minutes.”

Dennis let his head drop back against the headboard with a dull  _ thunk _ . “Sum...mary then. I like girls. I like boys. I like you. Like kissing you. Liked our time together before. Would like again if you want. But I won’t push. You decide.”

Jonathan opened his mouth to respond but he didn’t know what to say. He was rescued from having to come up with anything by Andrew’s voice carrying down the hall. “Dennis! DENNIS. Patty’s here!”

“No rush,” Dennis told Jonathan as he slid off the bed. “Not going any...where. Promise.”

\---

Jonathan stayed in Dennis’ room for a while, his thoughts swirling. After twenty minutes and no progress on getting his mind to calm down, Jonathan slipped out of the apartment while Dennis and Andrew were still occupied with Patty. Something Dennis had said - the thing about liking both men and women - had struck a spark in Jonathan and he wanted to do a little further research.

He hopped in his car and drove to the local library, pretending to wander the stacks until he “happened” upon the Social Sciences section, where he began scouring titles until he found the right subsection: Sexual Relations (306.7 on the Dewey Decimal system). It was only a few shelves’ worth of books, and most of them were not LGBT-themed. There were a few promising-looking books, which Jonathan rifled through quickly. They dealt almost exclusively with homosexuality, but they would have to do. Only one book was dedicated to bisexuality as a concept independent of other sexualities. Frustrated, Jonathan snatched up any book that looked helpful and lugged them all up to the front desk to check out.

He drove a little further to the mall, making a beeline for the Barnes and Noble. Their “Gay and Lesbian” section (as if those were the only two options) had a little more volume but the books that looked useful were pricey. He didn’t have that much cash on him. He selected one title in the end, foregoing the others in the name of frugality. “Bisexual Resource Guide” seemed like the most comprehensive of the lot.

He returned home with a total of eight books. There was nowhere to hide them - not when sharing a room with Andrew - so he left them on a bookcase and hoped they wouldn’t stand out too much.

“Hey, where did you go?” Andrew asked, bouncing out of the kitchen as Jonathan grabbed the laptop.

“Library,” Jonathan said. “Where’s Dennis?”

“I think he’s in his room,” Andrew said. “Patty left a few minutes ago.”

Jonathan nodded, understanding. Dennis hated speech therapy and would usually hole himself up in his room for a couple hours afterwards. He didn’t even have the energy to help Andrew with cooking dinner. “What are you making?”

“Coq au vin! I found the recipe online and it looked a little challenging but I think I’ve got it figured out.”

“Do you want some help?” Jonathan asked, running his finger over the laptop’s seam. “Is it going to take a while?”

Andrew shook his head. “No, I’ve got this under control. You enjoy your day off!”

Jonathan didn’t need telling twice. “Cool. I’m gonna be busy for a little while. Knock on the bedroom door if you need anything.”

He hoped that coq au vin - whatever that was - would be intricate enough to keep Andrew occupied for some time. The odds of Andrew actually knocking before he entered their now-shared bedroom were pretty slim, and locking the door would be too suspicious. Jonathan needed to do some experiments in there. The kind that required no interruptions.

Once in the bedroom, Jonathan shut the door firmly and plugged the laptop in before booting it up. He wondered if he should grab some tissues or lotion, but no - he wouldn’t let it get that far.

It’s not hard to find porn on the internet. In fact, it’s practically pouring into your lap at every turn. The trick was to find the right places that wouldn’t drown the computer in viruses and also showed the images Jonathan was looking for. Their malware security was good, but there could always be that one sneaky little virus that got in. He had a few choice websites he liked to use; now he just needed to find the right keywords and tags.

After a few searches, Jonathan finally found what he wanted: porn catering to gay men. There were so many naked men on the screen: most hard, some soft, all muscled and oiled up. Jonathan ran an absentminded hand down his own stomach; he had put on weight in the last month or so, but he was still far below what he had been in high school. And his job was giving his muscles their definition back. But he was by no means even remotely close to as sculpted as these glamourous men.

But other than a struggling sense of inferiority when comparing his body to theirs, Jonathan felt...nothing. He wasn’t aroused by the hairy chests or cum shots or .gifs of one man’s cock disappearing into another man’s asshole or mouth. He tried to imagine what some dude’s beard scruff would feel like against the inside of his thighs and made a face.

Jonathan sighed and set the laptop aside. Why was kissing Dennis so different? He imagined it in his head: the brush of their lips against each other, the urgent press of their tongues. Something stirred in Jonathan at the memory. He imagined further: Dennis breaking away to press kisses along Jonathan’s neck - moving lower and lower down his chest as he opened the buttons on Jonathan’s shirt. Dennis’ fingers on his arms, stroking lazily up and down. Dennis’ hair brushing against Jonathan’s sternum as he kisses his belly button. Jonathan’s stomach muscles jumped; his cock was just starting to get hard.

Jonathan pushed the fantasy away, breathing out sharply through his nose. Okay, that experiment was a success. But why? What was it about Dennis that Jonathan’s body was so damn interested in? It couldn’t be about emotional intimacy, or else Jonathan would be hard up for Andrew as much as he was for Dennis. It wasn’t that Dennis was some drop-dead gorgeous or particularly feminine man or extremely masculine like the sort dudes claimed they would “totally go gay for.” He was just… Dennis.

Jonathan picked the laptop back up and made sure the history was completely clear of any his activities. Returning it to the living room, he heard voices and laughter coming from the kitchen. Apparently Dennis had come out of his room and was now listening to a wild story while Andrew cooked. Jonathan wandered over to the doorway and leaned against it, watching them. Dennis was in his wheelchair, cutting board balanced on his legs as he carefully chopped vegetables. He looked up at Jonathan and waved. Jonathan could feel a blush rise in his cheeks.

“Hey Dennis, can I, um, talk to you for a minute?”

Andrew’s story had ended, so Dennis finished up the last of the carrot he was chopping and set the board on the countertop for Andrew to retrieve when he needed it. Dennis rolled after Jonathan into the living room.

“Um,” Jonathan said really quietly. “I was doing some thinking this afternoon. I’m...well, I think I’m really attracted to you. I don’t think I’m attracted to other men, but...I don’t know. I got some books I want to read, but I think they apply more to you than they do to me. But, um… I think I would like to, you know, go out some time. If you want.”

Dennis hadn’t looked so happy since they told him he was leaving the hospital. “Would love it,” he said, simply and clearly.

Jonathan’s mouth broke into a cautious grin. “Really?”

Dennis nodded rapidly. He reached out to take Jonathan’s hand and pressed a kiss to the knuckles. “Ab...solute...ly.”

“OH. MY. GOD!”

Jonathan jerked his head up guiltily. Andrew had come out of the kitchen for something and saw them holding hands. And now he was grinning his head off. Jonathan blushed. He’d been hoping for a little more time to get used to this...whatever this was...before he started telling people, but Andrew was already bounding across the room to try to hug them both at the same time, made difficult by the fact that Dennis was still sitting. “You two are so cute! How long has this been going on?! Jonathan, you didn’t tell me! Dennis, you didn’t either! Does anyone else know? Am I the first one finding out? Tell me!”

“Andrew, calm down,” Jonathan said, extricating himself from the embrace. But he couldn’t stop smiling. This was ridiculous. It was like his high school crush had agreed to go on a date with him, he was that giddy. “We haven’t even been on a date yet.”

“Have you kissed though?” Andrew demanded. “Jonathan, did you even check if you can kiss him yet? He has a compromised immune system. What if you get him sick?”

“I...will b-be...fine,” Dennis promised him. He patted Andrew’s hand. “Thank you.”

Andrew backed towards the kitchen, keeping an eye on them as if they might suddenly start making out in the middle of the living room. “When’s your first date? Where will you go? Are you guys going to start sharing the master bedroom instead? Aw, I’m going to miss you, Jonathan.”

Jonathan shook his head; Dennis hid a smile behind his hand. “We’ll let you know when something happens that you need to know about,” Jonathan promised him. “Okay?”

“Okay!” Andrew finally disappeared back into the kitchen to tend to his coq au vin.

Jonathan looked down at Dennis. He didn’t know what to do now. “Um, I’ll figure out the details and let you know. Got any preferences?”

Dennis shook his head. He took Jonathan’s hand and tugged, pulling him downwards. Bewildered, Jonathan leaned over, belatedly realising that Dennis was pulling him down for another kiss. This one was a bit smoother than the last, and when Jonathan finally pulled away he was just as breathless as Dennis. “Wow.”

Dennis looked remarkably like the cat who got the cream as he rolled back into the kitchen to help Andrew finish up with dinner.


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains graphic sexual situations

“Are you even paying attention?” Andrew whined as Jonathan’s character died for the fifth time in a row.

Jonathan barely registered the question; his ears were currently focused on the grunts and bangs coming from Dennis’ room. At what point was he supposed to go knock on the door? Or was Dennis going to come out to him? They had agreed to be ready to go at 6:30, and it was now 6:20. By the sounds coming from the bedroom, Dennis wasn’t nearly ready.

Andrew waved his hand in front of Jonathan’s face. “Hello??”

Jonathan batted his hand away. “Stop that. Go see if he needs help or something.”

“Why can’t you do it?” Andrew demanded even as he stood up.

“It would ruin the, you know, illusion of me coming to pick him up for our d-date.” Jonathan winced at the stammer.

It took Jonathan a full week to work up the courage to ask Dennis out. He shuffled halfheartedly through the library books and found almost nothing of use. The closest definition he could find to what he felt for Dennis was sexual fluidity, but even that wasn’t quite accurate.

Finally, after seven full days of Jonathan avoiding meeting Dennis’ eyes any time they ran into each other, he couldn’t take it anymore. Chin in the air, defiant (defiance against who or what, Jonathan didn’t know), Jonathan demanded to know if Dennis wanted to go on a date the next evening Jonathan had off.

Dennis smiled happily as if he had been expecting this all along and said yes, he would love to.

And now here they were: 6:30 on a Wednesday night. Dinner and a movie: a bit of a cliche, maybe, but Jonathan took comfort in the predictability of it. He had showered and dressed in one of his nice, tailored shirts, and a crisp pair of jeans. He’d even splurged and bought himself a bit of cologne. With all the superstition of a woman on her wedding day, Jonathan darted around the apartment, making sure Dennis didn’t see him before the appointed time. Maybe it was silly, but he wanted this to be just like a real date, where he would show up and knock on Dennis’ door to escort him to dinner properly. When your date is your roommate, however, that tended to make things a bit trickier.

A happy squeal from Dennis’ room jerked Jonathan out of his thoughts (should he have gotten flowers? Would Dennis like flowers?). 6:23. Jonathan wiped sweaty palms on his pants and stood up, then sat back down again. What was going on in there that had Andrew so excited?

Then, silence. Jonathan glanced at his watch: 6:25. And 13 seconds. 20 seconds. 24 seconds. He stood up and paced across the living room. His stomach was in knots; he had no idea how he would be able to actually eat anything once they got to the restaurant.

6:26. Why hadn’t Andrew come out of Dennis’ room yet? Why was it so quiet? Should Jonathan knock a little early? But what if Dennis wasn’t ready?

6:27. No, he was sick of waiting. Jonathan steeled his nerves and walked down the short hallway to Dennis’ room and paused to listen. He could hear Andrew and Dennis talking quietly inside. He knocked softly.

Andrew opened the door with a flourish. “Dennis, your date for the evening is here!”

Dennis was standing, walking cane in hand, dressed sharply in a nice pair of slacks, a crisp polo, and a blazer draped over his arm. Jonathan’s mouth went dry. The clothes Cordelia had chosen for him (and she had thought of everything Dennis could possibly need) fit perfectly. He looked handsome standing tall in his new clothes.

“H-hi,” Jonathan said, swallowing. “Um, are you ready?”

Andrew, who was sitting on the edge of Dennis’ bed and swinging his feet, made a face at Jonathan. “You’re supposed to tell him how nice he looks first.

Dennis smiled wryly. “His f-face...tells me I...look...g-good.”

Jonathan blushed. “You do. You look really, um, really good.”

Dennis’ smile turned genuine. “So do you,” he said.

“Thanks,” Jonathan mumbled. “Um, if you’re ready we should probably head out.”

Dennis walked towards Jonathan, leaning heavily on his cane while Jonathan grabbed his wheelchair. Dennis had told him he wanted to try walking for most of the evening since there would be a lot of sitting involved, but they were going to bring the chair just in case. Jonathan could run and grab it from the trunk at a moment’s notice.

“You two make such a cute couple,” Andrew said in a voice overcome with awe. Jonathan made a face at him. Unperturbed, Andrew just waved them off. “Don’t stay out too late!”

\---

Once they were settled in the car, Jonathan felt a bit calmer. He could put half his concentration into driving, which meant less room in his head for nerves. “How are you?” he asked Dennis, mostly out of politeness.

“Nervous,” Dennis admitted. “Last...time I was d-dating...two men...on a date...would not be...good.”

“Shit.” Jonathan hadn’t thought of that. Dennis came from a time when two men having sex were thought of as crazy at best, punishable by death at worst. Things had improved in the last few decades, but there was still a deep stigma against homosexuality. He hoped they wouldn’t run into any trouble. “So you’ve never dated a guy before?” He shouldn’t be surprised; just because Dennis said he liked both didn’t mean he’d necessarily have the same opportunities with each sex.

Dennis shook his head. “You..are my...first.”

“Well then how -” Jonathan stopped himself before he could blurt out an inappropriate question, but Dennis was looking at him curiously. “I mean, if you’ve never dated a man, how do you know you like them?”

Dennis tapped his heart. “I know.”

He seemed so certain. Jonathan mulled this new information over in his head, unsure of what it might mean.

The restaurant Jonathan had chosen (with no small help from Andrew) was a mid-priced Greek place with a good reputation. As they were seated, Jonathan felt rather conspicuous and self-conscious. He scoured the menu, looking for something fairly light so as not to upset his already unsettled stomach. Conversation remained subsumed until after the waiter came and took their orders.

“What m-movie...are we going to...see ton-night?” Dennis asked after the waiter left.

“ _ Phone Booth _ just came out last week and it’s supposed to be really good. You know, that thriller?” Jonathan nervously plucked at his napkin. “But if there’s something you’d rather see…”

Dennis shook his head. “Sounds good. Haven’t...been to the...cinema in a while.”

“What was the last movie you saw in theater?” Jonathan asked.

Dennis cocked his head the way he did when he was trying to remember something from a literal lifetime ago. “ _ The Bandit of...Sherwood...Forest _ . Saw it with m-my  fiancée .”

Jonathan’s stomach jumped; he had forgotten Dennis was once engaged. “Oh. Was it good?”

Grinning, Dennis shook his head again. “Horrible.”

Jonathan smiled in spite of his nerves. “We should watch it sometime. We can give it the MST3K treatment.”

The conversation proceeded, easier as Jonathan relaxed more and more. Dennis let Jonathan do most of the talking and ordering, but the moment the waiter stepped away Dennis would be vocal again. Dennis was still reluctant to talk to people who could make fun of him or say something insensitive; Jonathan could hardly blame him, but Patty felt that this reluctance was hindering his progress.

“Do you ever wonder what happened to her?” Jonathan asked during a lull in their conversation.

“Who?”

“Your, um… your  fiancée ,” Jonathan said.

Dennis’ eyes widened in surprise. “Oh. Yes, a little. Cordy l-looked...her up f-f-for me a wh-while ago.”

“Oh, cool,” Jonathan said, not quite able to meet Dennis’ eye.

“Married, three ch-children,” Dennis said. “Eight grand...children. Happy, I hope? Don’t know. The o-obituary didn’t s-say much.”

“Oh! Oh, Jesus. I’m sorry, I didn’t realise…”

Dennis waved away his apology. “Long time ago,” he murmured.

“Still,” Jonathan said, uncomfortable. Why had he brought this up? Was he just destined to spend his life with his foot in his mouth. “Sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.”

Just before the silence could become too awkward, Dennis started talking about the worst movies he ever saw during the early days of Hollywood. Even during the Depression, his family had some money to spend on little niceties like a trip to the drive-in. The ones they couldn’t afford, he sneaked in to see with his best friend. Jonathan’s blunder was quickly buried under tales of the death of silent films, the birth of talkies, the rise of technicolour. Dennis had taken his mom to see  _ The Wizard of Oz _ its opening weekend. If anyone had overheard their conversation, they would have thought Dennis crazy. Jonathan drank it all in, lost in the stilted cadence of Dennis’ voice. For his part, Jonathan talked about what it was like to work in a movie theater these days - sneaking in to watch bits and pieces of the sci fi movies he’d been dying to see, getting into mischief with the popcorn maker, or just sitting in an empty theater and wondering what was the point of playing a movie no one was watching.

They talked about work, too. Jonathan was really getting into the groove of his job now, and was coming to find he really enjoyed it. Yes, it had its spectacularly gross moments, but for the most part he found his work fulfilling in a way he had never experienced before. Dennis, on the other hand, had no idea what he wanted to do when he was fit enough to start working.

“Angel Inves...tigations would be interesting,” he conceded, “but it would h-have to be re...search only. I’m n-not much of a fighter.”

“Depends on your definition of fighting, I guess,” Jonathan said. He could name a dozen times in the last two days Dennis had put up one hell of a fight regarding something he did or didn’t want to do.

“Phys..ical fighting,” Dennis amended.

After dessert was cleared away and the bill paid, Jonathan was oddly reluctant to leave. He was eager to see the movie, but he didn’t want to have to end this conversation.

The hype over the movie, it turned out, was wildly misplaced. Or maybe not misplaced so much as, well, by the time the credits rolled, Jonathan couldn’t have said what happened beyond the first ten minutes because that was when Dennis’ hand found his and their fingers became intertwined. And then Jonathan’s thumb began tracing little circles inside Dennis’ palm. Dennis responded by bringing their joined hands up to his lips and pressing a tiny kiss to his thumb.

Jonathan shifted in his seat to facetiously whisper to Dennis that he was trying to enjoy the movie  _ thank you very much _ and that was when Dennis leaned in to kiss him and Jonathan was completely lost.

It was silly, dumb, teenagery making out in an empty theater just because they could, and Jonathan just couldn’t bring himself to care. He didn’t care that he was making out with a man in public (even if that public only consisted of three other people who were all sitting further up and would only see them if they turned around). He didn’t care that all he wanted to do was climb onto Dennis’ lap for better leverage (and better contact). He didn’t care that Dennis’ hand in his hair was causing sparks to shoot south and set up camp as a low, burning need in his groin. He didn’t care that every time one of them tried to sit back and actually watch the movie, the other one would do something utterly devious and distracting.

Jonathan had only been on two dates in his entire life, and one of those was just fetching Cordelia’s order at The Bronze. The other was prom with Jessica. Neither matched this...whatever this was.

When the lights came up slightly to show the way to the exits, Dennis and Jonathan blinked owlishly at each other. “It’s over?” Dennis asked, surprised.

“The movie is, yeah,” Jonathan said. His lips felt kiss-swollen; he licked them as if that would make it less obvious they had just spent the last hour making out. “Guess we should get out of here.”

The ride home was short, but it seemed to stretch into eternity. When they got home, Andrew was, surprisingly, nowhere to be seen. Jonathan was confused; he’d been expecting to be bombarded with questions the moment they walked through the door.

“Do you think there was an emergency at work?” Jonathan wondered, searching for some sort of note.

“Light’s...on in your...room,” Dennis told him.

Jonathan tapped lightly on the door but there was no response from within. He cracked the door open to find Andrew sitting up in bed, laptop balanced on his knees, and headphones firmly in place. When he saw Jonathan standing in the doorway, Andrew yanked the headphones off; Jonathan could hear Star Wars theme music just faintly coming from them.

“Are you done making out already?” Andrew asked.

Jonathan made a face at him. “What?”

Andrew set aside the laptop and spoke as if Jonathan were a little slow. “I came in here so you would have privacy when you got home in case you wanted to make out. That’s what happens after a date, you know. Gunn told me.”

“True,” Dennis said solemnly, a twinkle of amusement in his eye. “Hate to dis...appoint.” He reached for Jonathan’s hand and tugged him away from the door.

“Tell me all about it afterwards!” Andrew called cheerfully. Jonathan wasn’t sure if he meant the date or the movie or the making out - or all three.

Dennis led him back into the living room and settled on the couch. Jonathan sat down next to him, close enough to touch but not exactly climbing into his lap. “Do you want anything?”

“Nightcap?” Dennis suggested. “It’s been a...while since I’ve had… really good wine.”

Jonathan mentally sorted through what they had in the apartment; it wasn’t much. Andrew had gotten rid of most of their alcohol in his purge a few months ago, lest Jonathan get drunk and do something stupid, and neither of them had bothered to replenish much. There were a couple bottles of beer in the fridge and some cooking sherry and half a bottle of rum because Andrew had wanted to make rum cake. “No wine, sorry,” Jonathan said. “I can make us something with rum in it.”

“Hot buttered rum?” Dennis asked hopefully. The days were getting warmer as California ventured into spring, but nights were still cool.

“Sure,” Jonathan said, standing up. “Uh, how do you make that?” Andrew had the laptop, so he couldn’t search the internet for a good recipe.

Dennis chuckled and struggled back to his feet. “I’ll make it.”

“No, sit down,” Jonathan insisted, trying to carefully push Dennis back down without hurting him. “Heat up some rum and butter or what? I can do it, I just need to know how.”

Dennis stumbled, nearly falling onto the couch, but he recovered himself and grabbed Jonathan’s pushing hands. “Come on.”

It turned out a hot buttered rum was a little bit more complicated than hot rum and butter. Not much more complicated, but Jonathan probably would have messed it up without a recipe or Dennis’ guidance, which he was all too happy to provide. Dennis directed as Jonathan heated up water and grabbed rum, butter, cinnamon, vanilla, and brown sugar. Jonathan completely misjudged how much rum to put in their mugs, accidentally creating very strong drinks.

“Trying to g-get me drunk?” Dennis asked mildly, taking a sip of his drink and widening his eyes in surprise. “Are you after my v-virtue, Mr. Lev...inson?”

Jonathan blushed and took a large gulp of his own - very hot ow that was a bad idea - drink. He wasn’t as good at the whole flirting thing. “No,” he mumbled into his mug. This time when they settled on the couch, their legs pressed together. Jonathan felt heat radiating from the contact. Unsure what else to do, he leaned forward to put his mug on the coffee table; when he straightened up again, Dennis’ arm was resting along the back of the couch, and Jonathan found himself nestled up against Dennis’ side.

Jonathan suddenly felt entirely and irretrievably out of his depth.

“Are you okay?” Dennis asked softly. “Is..is this okay?”

Jonathan let out a shaky breath. “This is more than okay.” He half-turned in Dennis’ arm and, acting on an alcohol-fueled impulse, leaned in to press a kiss against Dennis’ lips. “Very, very okay.”

Dennis reached up to cup Jonathan’s face as they kissed again, pulling each other deeper. Their kisses were getting better, more coordinated. Dennis was proving just how far along he was coming in oral dexterity, even if his speech was still a little laboured. Jonathan couldn’t care less. He opened his mouth, letting Dennis’ tongue slip inside. Dennis’ hand journeyed up into Jonathan’s hair, rubbing his scalp in that way that sent electricity shooting down Jonathan’s spine.  _ Oh _ .

How long they lay entangled on the couch while their drinks cooled beside them, Jonathan couldn’t have said. At some point they ended up more horizontal, Dennis stretched out beneath Jonathan, their bodies pressed together. Jonathan could feel Dennis’ hardness press against his thigh, but when he reached for it, Dennis shied away, breaking the kiss.

“Sorry,” he panted against Jonathan’s shoulder. “If...you t-touch me r-right now...I will...explode.”

Jonathan’s cheeks reddened instantly even as he couldn’t help but grin proudly. “You sure you don’t want me to make you explode?”

“Not...yet,” Dennis said. Jonathan sat up, letting Dennis ease into a more upright position. “Couple….more...dates.”

Jonathan could have pointed out the hypocrisy (how many times had Dennis brought him to orgasm without any dates at all?) but Dennis was shyly sipping at his drink and not looking Jonathan in the eye, so he let it go. Dennis looked the most vulnerable right now that Jonathan had ever seen him, even in the hospital. So Jonathan just took Dennis’ free hand in his own and gave it a squeeze. “Cool. No problem.” He picked up the television remote. “Wanna see if there’s a cheesy movie on SciFi or AMC?”

They flipped through the channels, but nothing good was playing, and Dennis’ eyes were starting to droop. Andrew came out of his room to use the bathroom, using his hands as blinders to prevent himself from seeing anything he might not want to see. Jonathan chucked a pillow at him. “We’re not doing anything! Get your head out of the gutter.” Never mind that given the opportunity, Jonathan would have made Dennis come right there on the couch just ten minutes ago.

A few minutes later, Dennis began yawning widely.. He shot Jonathan an apologetic look. “Gonna go to b-bed, I think. Thank you f-for every...thing. I had fun.”

“Me too,” Jonathan told him. He stood up and helped Dennis to his feet. “Need anything before you go to bed?”

Dennis leaned down and captured Jonathan’s lips in a goodnight kiss. “Just that.” He left, leaning heavily on his cane.

Jonathan tried to scrub the elated grin from his face. He must look like a sappy dork - because he certainly felt like one. His first date with Dennis had been a smashing success, and Dennis wanted more in the future. Jonathan drifted off to his shared room, ready to face the torrent of questions about the food, movie, and aftermath that Andrew was bound to have.

\---

A few days later, Jonathan had another day off, thanks to a lucky scheduling fluke. He couldn’t remember later how it came up, but Dennis mentioned he hadn’t been to the beach since before his death. After that, there was no stopping Andrew from planning a huge beach trip, including the whole gang from Angel Investigations, minus their rather flammable boss. Lorne also declined, saying that he didn’t tan so much as rust, which wasn’t a good look on anyone.

Jonathan drove himself and Dennis over to the hotel around noon and now they were in Angel’s office making small talk with Angel while everyone else was a flurry of activity, putting together a picnic and gathering beach towels and umbrellas.

“Call me immediately if something happens and you need us to kick evil ass,” Cordelia instructed Angel for the dozenth time. “I’ll have my cell phone on, okay? No risking sunlight - I don’t care if LA is literally going to hell.”

“I doubt there’d be much sunlight if LA went to hell,” Angel retorted. When Cordelia fixed him with a stern look, he capitulated. “I’ll call you immediately if I need anything.”

“Thank you.” Cordelia swept out of the office as swiftly as she had come in, and took a seat at her desk. She looked like she was shoving paperwork into a folder or something - Cordelia’s version of “filing.” Apparently being a goddess hadn’t improved her office skills one bit.

Jonathan sat back in his chair; all he needed for a day at the beach was swim trunks, a tee-shirt, flipflops, and sunscreen, all of which he was already wearing. Maybe a jacket if it turned out to be chillier than anticipated. He wasn’t concerned about food. He knew Andrew would pack more than enough.

“No speech therapy today?” Angel asked Dennis. Jonathan was glad Angel asked Dennis and not himself; people, especially those who knew about Dennis’ speech problems, tended to talk about him as if he weren’t in the room, asking Jonathan questions instead. It was a rare and pleasant surprise when someone spoke directly to Dennis.

Dennis shook his head. “I’ve been doing b-better,” he explained. “Patty comes three...times a week n-now.”

“That’s good,” Angel said. “Sounds like you’re making good progress.”

“Th-thank you.”

Jonathan shifted his leg slightly. “Has there been any word from Sunnydale about…?” He let the question hang there.

Angel shook his head. “Giles has no idea how someone could be accidentally resurrected, given what a powerful spell it would take. Willow doesn’t understand either. They both want to meet Dennis, but I told them he’s still recovering and can’t come up to Sunnydale any time soon.”

Later, Jonathan would wonder if the universe was having a big old laugh at his expense that the front door to the hotel opened at that very moment and they all heard Cordelia say, “Welcome to Ang- oh my god.” Then, much louder and with an urgent note in her voice. “Hi,  _ Willow _ . What are you doing here?”

Jonathan’s heart plummeted into his stomach. He shot a look at Dennis, who was staring at the open door between the office and the lobby. Fortunately, they were both sitting in a corner that wasn’t visible from the front door, but if Willow were to try to come into the office…

“Well, I had to come to LA anyway for a, you know, a thing, and I figured while I was here maybe I could meet this ghost Wesley accidentally resurrected,” Willow said. God, she sounded so normal. If he didn’t know any better, Jonathan would never have guessed she could turn into a vengeance-seeking murderer the moment she laid eyes on him or Andrew.

“Well, gosh, you know, a little advance warning would have been nice,” Cordelia said, still talking loudly. She got up from her desk and edged over until she stood just in front of the open office door. Angel also got up and went to join her, hovering half behind the door jamb. “We’re planning a whole big day at the beach and don’t really have time for a chat.”

Dennis leaned forward and eased his hand into Jonathan’s. Jonathan gave it a squeeze, then let go. He stood up.

Feet pounded on the stairs and then Gunn’s voice sounded out, “Oh no don’t tell me we got a client right before our beach day. Wait - haven’t we met before?”

“Fred, Gunn, you guys remember  _ Willow _ , right?” Cordelia said.

“Why do you keep saying my name like that?”

“Oh -  _ oh right _ . Willow, yeah. Um, how’s it going?” Fred asked, her voice too high pitched to be natural.

“It’s good,” Willow said, sounding completely bewildered. “Is Wesley around? Or this guy, um, David?”

“Dennis,” Cordelia corrected her. “Nope, sorry, we promised him a day at the beach so today really isn’t any good for us. Maybe we’ll catch you the next time you’re in town!”

“I really don’t think that’s going to work for me,” Willow said. “I only need to talk to him for a few minutes.” The sound of a footstep coming towards the office and four pairs of feet moving immediately to intercept. A long moment of silence followed; Jonathan could imagine Willow staring at them in exasperation, wondering what they were so intent on hiding in this office.

Without even making a conscious decision, Jonathan moved towards the other office door.

“Where are you going?” Dennis hissed, but Jonathan didn’t stop. He pulled the door open and stepped out into the lobby. He wasn’t in plain view yet, but just a few steps would take him around the corner and face to face with the woman who tried to kill him almost nine months ago.

He took those steps.

If someone asked him what he was thinking in that moment, he might say that he was sick of hiding or that he knew he should do the right thing or that he deserved whatever punishment Willow had in store for him. And all of that would be true in a sense. Those were his underlying motivations, but in the moment he wasn’t thinking about them. He wasn’t thinking at all. His feet moved on autopilot, a vague sense that he was walking to his death clinging to the back of his mind. Dennis scrambled to his feet and - without cane or wheelchair - stumbled after Jonathan but he wasn’t fast enough to stop him if he could.

“Willow,” he said, his voice breaking on her name. “I’m sorry, but Cordelia lied to you. It wasn’t Wes who resurrected Dennis; it was me.”

“What the hell are you doing, you idiot?” Cordelia snarled into the silence that followed his announcement.

Jonathan didn’t respond. He was too busy watching Willow’s eyes, which he could have sworn were flickering between black and normal. His heart pounded and his hands were sweaty - if she moved to curse him, he doubted there was anything he could do to stop her. A hand on his shoulder made him jump, but it was just Dennis, giving Jonathan or himself support - it was impossible to say which.

A door burst open across the room and Andrew came dashing across the lobby. “Jonathan!” he yelled, diving between Jonathan and Willow, whose eyes flared at the sight of the other of her sworn enemies. Jonathan braced himself for the pain of being skinned or burned or eviscerated alive, but then Willow crumpled visibly. She turned her anguished face to Cordelia. “Why didn’t you tell me they were here? Do you know what these - what they did?”

Lorne and Wesley came through the door Andrew had just exited, which explained how Andrew had known Willow was here. “Yes, we know,” Cordelia told Willow, folding her arms over her chest. “They did some really stupid stuff. But have you taken a look around you? Do you think any one of us can claim not to have done anything worse. I mean  _ hello _ .” She gestured to herself and Angel. “Miss I-made-your-life-hell-for-twelve-years and Mr Could-turn-evil-in-a-dead-heartbeat at your service.”

Willow’s jaw clenched. Jonathan eased himself in front of Andrew just in case. “It’s not the same!” she cried. She jabbed an accusatory finger at them. “They tried to kill Buffy! They killed….”

“I’m sorry about Tara,” Jonathan said quietly. All eyes turned to him, but he held his ground. “So, so sorry. She was...well, I guess my opinion doesn’t really count here but she didn’t deserve what she got. And I’m sorry about Buffy and - and Katrina and everything we did because we were stupid. I wish I could take it all back but I can’t and I live with it every day. We both do.”

“We’re good guys now,” Andrew told her solemnly. “We fight demons. Well, I do. Jonathan is a consultant but his main job is at a hospital helping sick people. We defeated The First Evil.”

Willow frowned. “But I thought The First…” She stopped, realization dawning. “Oh. You guys were lying again when you said The First came for Angel.”

Angel and Cordelia exchanged a look. “Yeah,” Angel said sheepishly.

“Willow,” Wesley said gently. “We understand you are upset and hurt. We lied to protect not just Jonathan and Andrew but also to protect you.”

Willow stared from one person to the next, face devoid of emotion. At last her eyes settled on Andrew and then Jonathan. “Don’t think I forgive you just because you say you’re good now,” she warned.

Jonathan let out a relieved breath. Death wasn’t coming for them today, it seemed. “No,” he agreed. “You don’t have to forgive us.”

Willow moved (reluctantly, it seemed) forward, staring suspiciously at Jonathan. “Did you really resurrect someone you didn’t mean to?”

Jonathan swallowed. “Uh. Yeah. Willow, this is Dennis. Dennis, Willow Rosenberg.”

Dennis moved forward, releasing Jonathan’s shoulder to shake Willow’s hand instead. He looked a little unsteady on his feet, Jonathan noticed. “P-pleased to m-meet you,” Dennis said.

“Do you need to sit down?” Jonathan asked him quietly.

Dennis grimaced and nodded slightly.

Willow watched the exchange. “How long has it been since you, um…” She trailed off, eyes darting between Jonathan and Dennis. For a wild moment Jonathan wondered if she had figured out their relationship just by looking at them, but it became clear she was uncomfortable speaking to either of them when she turned to Wesley instead. “How long ago did he resurrect Dennis?”

Jonathan held Dennis’ arm, supporting him, as they made their way back into the office. Andrew followed close behind, while Willow and Wesley brought up the rear. Wesley was saying, “Before Christmas. Dennis has shown a much longer recovery time than Buffy did. We assume it is a mix of having been dead for much longer and not having Slayer healing.”

Willow nodded thoughtfully. Now that she was focused on a problem that could be solved, she looked calmer. Jonathan helped Dennis settle into his wheelchair, while Willow took the seat Jonathan had been occupying previously. Jonathan perched on the wheelchair arm further from her, while Wesley sat on the edge of Angel’s desk. Andrew took Angel’s seat. Cordelia poked her head through the sliding door that connected the office to the reception area. “Shout if you need anything.” She closed the door, leaving a gap in case she needed to bust through fast in the event of potential dismemberment.

Willow flashed Dennis a smile; Jonathan relaxed. He had been worried she would take out her anger with himself and Andrew on Dennis. “Uh, is it weird to ask about your death? I don’t know a lot of details, and I’m not sure what’s considered inappropriate to someone who, you know, died and was a ghost.”

“Wh-what do...you need to...know?” Dennis asked.

Willow looked taken aback by the laboured speech but she didn’t say anything about it. “How long you’ve been dead, how you died, that sort of thing.”

“You want me to tell her?” Jonathan asked low enough that only Dennis could hear, and maybe Willow if she were straining.

Dennis flashed him a grateful smile. “Thanks but...if Patty knew you...were speak..ing for me, she would h-hit us b-both.” To Willow, he gave an apologetic look. “Hope you h-have some….time. I am s-still work...ing on getting m-my speech back...to normal.”

Willow started to ask, “Why -?” but then seemed to think better of whatever question was on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she just said, “I’ve got some time.”

Dennis told her the pertinent details: when he died and how. This was the first time Jonathan had heard anyone lay the story out so bluntly. A cold fury soaked his stomach to think about Dennis’ mom hitting him over the head with a brick to subdue him and then tying him up and building a wall to keep him contained. How he slowly suffocated behind plaster and brick. How he was stuck in that wall as a ghost until Cordelia released him over fifty years later. And then the resurrection.

“Wait, I’m still a little confused about the timeline,” Willow said. “If it was Cordy’s apartment, what was Jonathan doing there?”

This time Jonathan took up the story. He told her about Cordelia’s temporary status as a Higher Power, Jonathan and Andrew taking over her apartment, Cordelia’s return, and then the eviction notice and how they had to scramble to find a solution. Andrew provided commentary, adding details throughout, while Wesley observed. He seemed to be there mostly to keep an eye on Willow and make sure she didn’t go Dark on them.

“A binding spell,” Willow repeated at the end. “You were going to bind his soul to the shirt he died in?” She made a face. “That’s morbid.”

Jonathan shrugged. “It’s what we had to work with. We didn’t want to mess it up.” Oh, the irony of those words.

Willow held out her hands to Dennis. “Do you mind if I…?”

Dennis nodded and let Willow take his hands in hers. Jonathan put his hand on Dennis’ shoulder; he could feel her power soaking into Dennis’ body, prodding and seeking. What it was seeking was impossible to say. Jonathan moved his hand to the back of Dennis’ neck for better contact and felt Dennis lean into his touch. Willow’s eyes were shut as she worked, but then suddenly they flew wide open and she sat back with a cry.

Wesley and Andrew jumped to their feet while Jonathan snatched his hand away; he had felt it too. Her probing had nudged something inside Dennis that sparked wildly. Not dangerously - just a bit stronger than anything Jonathan had ever encountered before.

Willow cleared her throat, rubbing her hands on her jeans. “So, uh, when you did this binding spell, who all was involved in it?”

“All of us,” Jonathan said, a bit bewildered. “We weren’t sure if it was going to work so we wanted to give it maximum power.”

“All of you...including someone who just got back from three months’ vacation as a Higher Power?” Willow asked drily.

Dennis looked over at Jonathan, who looked at Wes and Andrew, who just stared back at him, the light clicking for all of them at once. “We didn’t really factor in the relative power of our combined…” Wesley trailed off and cleared his throat.

“A vampire, an ex-Higher Power, a demon, three demon-hunters, and two wizards,” Jonathan said, counting off his fingers. “We botched the spell because we  _ overshot _ not because we were using the wrong spell.”

“You didn’t bind him to his shirt,” Willow added. “You bound him to his own skeleton. The power behind the spell pushed his soul beyond its normal boundaries to connect to the thing that was calling to him most of all - which wasn’t some piece of fabric but his own  _ body _ .” There was an edge of excitement in her voice.

“But then why isn’t he just a skeleton with a soul attached?” Andrew asked.

“Because of Cordy?” Jonathan asked Willow, who shrugged.

“That would be my guess,” she said. “That spark in him - that was her power. She gave him life.”

There was a moment of silence as they all considered this. Dennis looked up at Jonathan, and Jonathan was startled to see fear in his eyes. “Wh-what hap..pens when that sp-spa..rk f-f-fades?” he whispered.

Jonathan’s stomach jolted. “Maybe it won’t,” he said. “Or maybe the spark was just needed to light the fire, but now it’s you who’s keeping it going.”

“Maybe,” Dennis murmured, but he didn’t sound convinced. He looked down at his hands resting in his lap, lifting one up to examine it.

Willow gave him an awkwardly sympathetic look. “I’m sure you’ll be fine,” she said.

Dennis smiled. “Thank you.” He dropped his hand.

Wesley cleared his throat. “Well, you’ve certainly given us a lot of the answers we were looking for. There are still some things we don’t know - how long this will last, for example, or if Dennis will age normally - but we may never know until it begins to happen.”

Willow stood up. “Let me know what you find out.” She spoke to Wesley, ignoring Jonathan and Andrew, who had also stood up. She shook his hand and then Dennis’. “It was nice to meet you.”

Dennis beamed at her, then brought her fingers up to his lips to bestow a soft kiss to the knuckles. “The...pleasure...was mine.”

Red heat flared in Willow’s cheeks, while Wesley fought to hide a smile. Andrew squeaked and looked to Jonathan, who nearly bit his own tongue in two. “Um, thanks,” Willow said awkwardly. Dennis released her hand and she moved to the sliding door that led to Cordelia’s desk. Cordelia didn’t look up from whatever she was writing. “Did you kill my employee?”

“No!” Willow crossed her arms over her chest in a sort of self-protective hug.

“Good. He’s pretty irreplaceable, you know. So’s Jonathan.”

Jonathan gawped at her. From Cordelia, that was high praise.

“What’s your other business in LA?” Angel asked Willow. He was sitting on the edge of Cordelia’s desk; the rest of the team, Jonathan noticed, was still hanging out in the lobby and seemed to be taking this moment to clean weapons. Fred surreptitiously slid the knife she was sharpening out of sight.

“Oh, you know… no big deal,” Willow said breezily. “Just the small matter of busting Faith out of jail.”

Cordelia’s head snapped around so fast it was a miracle she didn’t break her neck. “I’m sorry - what?” Angel sat up, alert, while Wesley frowned and crossed his arms.

“Is this on Buffy’s orders?” Wesley asked.

“Who’s Faith?” Fred asked.

“Yes, it’s on Buffy’s orders,” Willow said. “Whatever is happening in Sunnydale is huge. Huger than normal. I mean we deal with apocalypses all the time, but this one… I don’t know what’s going to happen. They’re going after the Potentials and you must have heard about the Watcher’s Council. With all that, Buffy wants Faith where she can keep an eye on her.”

“We can keep an eye on Faith,” Angel protested. “I’ve been visiting her every week that I can. She trusts me more than she’ll ever trust Buffy.”

Willow shrugged. “Yeah, maybe. Buffy’s been acting a little weird lately, but this is something I agree with her on. Better to have Faith under our noses than exposed where the enemy could manipulate her. Again.”

“What are Potentials?” Andrew whispered to Jonathan, who shrugged. He was still trying to figure out who Faith was.

“I’ll go with you,” Wesley said firmly. “You’ll need backup if things go poorly.”

“Uh,  _ way _ bad idea, Wes,” Cordelia protested. “Last time you were face to face with Faith she  _ tortured _ you. Or did you forget that little factoid.”

“I’ve changed since then,” Wesley said. “Presumably she has too. At least that’s what Angel has been telling us.”

“Well, yeah, but that doesn’t mean she should be let loose,” Angel said. “Even with Buffy’s supervision she could get into a lot of trouble, especially if Buffy’s not thinking clearly.”

“I can hold my own against Faith,” Willow insisted. Personally, Jonathan believed that to be true but the last thing all of SoCal needed was an ultimate showdown match between a Slayer and a Dark Witch.

“Dangerous,” Dennis said with a shake of his head. “I saw what she...can do. She’s strong.”

Willow bit her lip. “I’m taking Faith with me whatever happens. If you guys want to help, that’s your decision.”

Gunn stood up. “Cool, a jailbreak! I’ve always wanted to do that.” He hefted the axe he had been sharpening.

“We don’t need the whole team on this,” Angel said. “Wesley, you go with Willow. I’ll take the sewers and meet you at the prison. We’ll get Faith out and on her way to Sunnydale. The rest of you… go to the beach and relax like you had planned.” He swept out of the room before anyone could protest.

Willow jerked her thumb over her shoulder, pointing to the front entrance. “I’ve got Giles’ car. Ready?”

Wesley slid a knife up his shirt sleeve, then pulled on a jacket. “Ready.”

Willow waved goodbye to Cordelia and left. Jonathan’s shoulders sagged; he had confronted his worst nightmare and survived. He was still alive.

And Dennis. They finally knew - or at least had an educated guess - how this all happened. He couldn’t believe it. He needed a moment to process the information.

“Who’s Faith?” Fred asked again.

\---

Jonathan never did find out the details of how Willow, Wesley, and Angel broke Faith the Slayer out of jail. He had listened to the explanation of how Faith came to be and what a “Potential” was with half an ear that afternoon as they finished preparing to go to the beach.

“How are you?” Jonathan had murmured to Dennis in an undertone.

“Was going...to ask you same,” Dennis had admitted. “I’m fine. Relieved but also...worried? We have answers but...more ques..tions.”

The conversation didn’t go beyond that for a while as the team finally managed to load into their cars and drove to the beach. The rest of the day was spent basking in the sun and ocean, leaving little time for worry. Dennis had been so happy to feel the sand between his toes and the ocean lap at his ankles.

But in the following days and weeks, they returned to the unanswered questions again and again: how much time did Dennis have left? Would he age normally or would he be stuck in this perpetual state of 23 years old forever? Was he just himself or did having bits of the team’s combined essences change who he was?

Jonathan felt reasonably sure the answer to the last question was no. Dennis seemed just the same as he did when he was a ghost. But the rest of the questions remained unanswered.

“I guess it doesn’t matter,” Dennis said after some time. “The magic could wear off and leave me dead again - or I could be hit by a bus or die a hundred other ways. So could anyone else. It doesn’t matter. What matters is what I choose to do with the second chance I’ve been given.”

Jonathan and he were getting cozy on the couch after Jonathan got home from work when he said this. Jonathan gave him a curious look. “So what do you want to do with the second chance?”

The look Dennis gave him was filled with a heat that made Jonathan’s stomach do backflips. “Everything I can.” He leaned in and captured Jonathan’s lips in a slow, sultry kiss.

Jonathan snorted at the cliche but he couldn’t argue with the effect. They had made out a few times on the couch before, each time ending with Dennis pulling away before things got too intense. Jonathan didn’t mind - mostly. He opted for longer, more numerous showers to deal with the aftereffects. How Dennis took care of his own problems was a mystery Jonathan enjoyed imagining, usually in order to fuel his own self-ministrations.

But Dennis didn’t pull away this time. His hands, which had started out cupping Jonathan’s face, slid down to his chest and then further to the hem of his shirt. A small tug pulled Jonathan over until he was practically straddling Dennis’ lap - and then with a braced daring, Jonathan swung his leg over and then he really was straddling Dennis’ lap. Dennis moaned into the kiss, causing an echo to rip from Jonathan’s throat. Their groins rubbed together, dizzy heat exploding behind Jonathan’s eyes.

Dennis broke away from the kiss just long enough to pant, “A-Andrew?”

Jonathan winced and gave Dennis a mock-offended shove. “No,  _ Jon-a-than _ . You know, the guy you’ve been dating for the last couple of weeks?”

Dennis pinched Jonathan’s thigh. “ _ No. _ Where is he?”

“Our room,” Jonathan said, leaning in to kiss Dennis’ neck, scraping his teeth ever so lightly against the sensitive skin there. Dennis shivered. “Talking to his new Star Trek buddy on the east coast, I think. He’ll be busy for a few hours.”

“Good,” Dennis said right before shoving both hands up Jonathan’s shirt to explore the skin underneath.

Jonathan’s stomach muscles jumped, and he had to fight the urge to draw back. Dennis had seen him naked before - yes, this was true. But that was when he was a ghost and couldn’t really see things properly. What if now he would be disgusted by - by how untoned Jonathan was in spite of working fulltime at the hospital or how he had gained back most of the weight he had lost during his depression? What if he got Jonathan naked just to laugh at him?

But Dennis wasn’t laughing or recoiling. His fingers traced up and down Jonathan’s chest, seeking out his nipples to pinch and tease them. Jonathan nipped sharply at Dennis’ neck before drawing back and - with an enormous amount of willful confidence - stripped his shirt off.

Dennis breathed in sharply, eyes roving over Jonathan’s bare chest and stomach. He leaned forward to suck on Jonathan’s collarbone before dipping his head down to roll one nipple between his teeth. Jonathan let out an involuntary moan.

“Um,” he said, voice strained. He was hard and he could tell from where their bodies met that Dennis was too. “Should we…?”

“Bedroom,” Dennis gasped. The one simple word sent Jonathan’s head reeling. Bedroom. They were really going to do this.

He stumbled off Dennis’ lap and reached down to help Dennis stand. Walking to the bedroom was awkward with a boner but they hurried, accidentally slamming the door shut before Jonathan grabbed Dennis in another intense kiss, nearly knocking him off his feet. They stumbled for the bed until Dennis’ legs hit it and they tumbled down.

Dennis started to reach for the buttons of his own shirt, but Jonathan stopped him. “Wait.” With hands that barely shook, Jonathan began working the buttons, exposing Dennis’ chest inch by inch. His skin was soft and unmarked, barely with any hair at all. With almost reverential touches, Jonathan pushed Dennis’ shirt off his shoulders and leaned down to kiss his sternum.

This was happening. He was having sex with Dennis. Dennis, who two months ago he had thought was gone forever. Dennis, who six months ago was a ghost with no designs towards resurrection but was content to help Jonathan get off on a regular basis. Dennis, who right now was gazing at Jonathan with just as much awe as Jonathan felt towards him. Jonathan leaned forward and captured Dennis’ lips in an urgent, passionate kiss.

Together they edged up to the center of the bed, the more room to lie down and move around. It wasn’t an especially big bed, but it was enough for what they had in mind. Jonathan laid Dennis out and straddled his hips once more, bending over to press kisses into every inch of Dennis he could reach. Dennis’ hands found Jonathan’s knees and moved upwards to his thighs, and then around to his ass. Jonathan closed his eyes, the better to feel Dennis’ hands on him. He experimentally sucked one of Dennis’ nipples into his mouth and was rewarded by Dennis nearly leaping off the bed.

Jonathan pulled back, grinning impishly. “Sensitive?”

Dennis smacked Jonathan’s ass. “Show y-you sensi...tive,” he threatened.

Jonathan licked the other nipple, swirling his tongue around the tiny tip. He used his fingers to pinch and roll the first one until Dennis was a swearing, desperate mess beneath him. Jonathan felt a surge of pride at the result. He might not know what he was doing in bed (with a man!) but if he followed his instincts he was pretty sure he could figure it out.

Dennis’ hands, meanwhile, reached into Jonathan’s pants to grasp his ass. He dragged Jonathan harshly forward, grinding their clothed cocks together. His nails dug into the soft skin, and Jonathan suddenly felt the need to be very, very naked with Dennis  _ right now _ . He wiggled downwards until he could quickly - if ungracefully - unbutton and unzip Dennis’ pants and then  _ yank _ them downwards. Dennis’ cock tented his boxers, a small wet spot beginning to form where the tip was. Jonathan pushed his pants the rest of the way off along with Dennis’ socks, which Dennis was struggling to get off. Feeling mischievous and a little inventive, Jonathan returned to Dennis’ still-covered cock and sucked the tip into his mouth.

Immediately, the small wet spot became a large wet spot and Dennis was shuddering through what looked like an intense orgasm.

Jonathan sat back on his heels, somewhere between proud and disappointed. Dennis panted heavily, staring up at Jonathan as a blush crept over his cheeks. “Sorry,” he croaked.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jonathan said, still grinning as he reached up to wipe his lips. There was no actual semen on them, but the taste lingered: a sort of heady, dark bitterness. “Do you want me to, um…?”

Dennis peeled the wet boxers away from his body with a grimace. He was now completely naked and Jonathan’s heart gave a wild jolt. “To what?” Dennis asked.

Jonathan’s mind had wiped out at the sight of Dennis’ bare body. He couldn’t remember what he wanted to ask; all he could think of now was putting his lips, tongue, and hands on every inch of skin.

“Come here,” Dennis said softly, gesturing Jonathan forward. “I’ll be g-good to go ag-gain in a couple minutes.”

Jonathan snickered as he moved towards Dennis. “You’re like a teenager but, you know, old enough to consent.”

Dennis pinched his nipple. It felt good but it didn’t produce the same wild response Dennis had. “Don’t m-make me have you t-take care of this on your own. I’ve m-missed the way you l-look when you come.”

Jonathan blushed harder. He didn’t know what to say to that, so he kissed Dennis instead, letting his lips express how he felt. Dennis reached for his face then brushed his hands down Jonathan’s chest to his pants. His fingers fumbled with the button for long enough that Jonathan wanted to reach down and do it himself but then it finally popped free and Jonathan and Dennis together pushed the heavy fabric down, leaving Jonathan in just his boxers and his socks. Soon, those too were gone and Jonathan lay pressed against Dennis’ body: naked and sweat-slicked and hard. True to his word, Dennis was already starting to get hard again.

Dennis’ body felt so strange as it moved against his own, but god did it feel  _ good _ . They lay on their sides facing each other, kissing lazily as hands explored. Slowly, Jonathan fitted his leg in between Dennis’ so that they could move closer together. This put him in the perfect position to thrust against Dennis’ hip and - oh that was even  _ better _ . Dennis matched him thrust for thrust, their bodies pumping together in time, building up the tension inside until Jonathan could take no more and he pushed Dennis down and climbed on top of him.

He leaned over and peppered kisses all over Dennis’ chest and stomach and arms and then down to his hips and thighs. He took Dennis’ cock in hand and gave it a few experimental pumps. Dennis threw his head back, panting. His hands grabbed Jonathan’s arms and dragged him back up to kiss on the mouth once more. Their bodies tangled and twined until Jonathan couldn’t tell where he ended and Dennis began.

Dennis reached a hand between them and with a little bit of fumbling managed to take both of their cocks in hand at the same time. “Fuck,” Jonathan hissed against Dennis’ mouth, electrified to feel them pressed against each other. He wouldn’t last long - not with how novel and wonderful this felt.

Dennis stroked them both, but it became too difficult to keep up the coordination. Jonathan reached down to join his hand with Dennis’ and together they pumped and stroked until Jonathan could hold back no longer and he came all over Dennis’ stomach. Within moments, Dennis did the same.

And then it was over. Jonathan had sex with a real, live, corporeal man, and he didn’t feel some grand reawakening of sexual orientation. He didn’t burst into flames or get smote down by God Almighty. He was just a little sweaty and a lot sticky and in need of a nap. Judging by the way Dennis’ eyes kept drifting shut and popping back open, he felt the same. When Jonathan started to move away, Dennis shot out a hand to stop him.

“Do you, um...want to stay in here? I’m j-just going to nap a little i-if you want to join me.”

Jonathan’s heart fluttered. “Um, yeah. Let me just, um, go grab a washcloth or something. I don’t want to wake up with cum all over.”

He darted into Dennis’ half-bath and wet a washcloth. By the time he returned to the bed, Dennis was already dozing. He looked so peaceful that Jonathan felt like a jerk to wake him up so he could get clean. Afterwards, they settled down together and within minutes, Jonathan was asleep, curled up around Dennis and holding onto him like he would never let him go.


	37. Chapter 37

“Are you ready?” Dennis asked quietly.

They sat in Ol’ Granny together, Jonathan in the driver’s seat as always. They had talked about Dennis eventually getting his driver’s license but that felt a million years away. For now, Jonathan was content to play the chauffeur, especially today when concentrating on traffic took his mind off other pressing matters.

Like the reason he and Dennis were currently parked on the street in front of the Hyperion gathering their nerves.

“Not really,” Jonathan admitted, staring at the hotel. Never before had it seemed so imposing. “But I know you wanna do this, so…”

“We don’t have to,” Dennis said, studying Jonathan’s expression.

Jonathan shook his head. “No, you were right before. She’s your best friend and she deserves to know. And besides, it’s not fair to make Andrew keep holding this secret. It’s not like what we’re doing is bad or embarrassing or disgusting, so why shouldn’t we let everyone know?”

Dennis didn’t say anything as Jonathan rambled himself into silence. “Are you sure?” he asked one more time.

Jonathan looked at him and smiled, if a little shakily. “Yeah. I’m sure. Let’s go.”

Dennis climbed out of the passenger side, cane in hand. He’d been getting stronger every day, and now mostly didn’t need to use his wheelchair except when he got really tired. He had also been venturing out on his own more often, wandering around the neighbourhood for an hour or so at a time. Once, there was a terrifying time he disappeared for three hours and Jonathan and Andrew had a frantic search until they found him exhausted and unable to walk home from the local park. He’d lost track of time, he said, and next thing he knew he didn’t have the strength to make it home. After that, Jonathan immediately went out and bought him an emergency phone and made him promise to keep it on himself whenever he went somewhere without company.

Jonathan got out of the car at a much slower pace. He was nervous as hell, but he was determined to get through this for Dennis. He knew they couldn’t keep their relationship a secret forever, but he wasn’t looking forward to the inevitable questions. And Dennis insisted on telling Cordelia separately first, her being his best friend and all.

“I mean, technically she’s not  _ really _ first,” Jonathan muttered as they made their way to the front door. “Lorne knew about us, you know, before. And I think Wesley may have known.”

“But they don’t know about us now,” Dennis said. Jonathan nodded. “Then she’ll be the first after Andrew to know about us  _ now _ .”

Jonathan couldn’t see where the distinction came in, or why it even mattered, but he was willing to go along with this for Dennis’ sake.

Cordelia was the first to spot them come in. “Hey guys. What’s up?” She was watering a plant next to her desk, which she regarded with a frown. The leaves did not look healthy. “At what point do I give up and buy a fake one instead?”

“It needs sunlight,” Dennis admonished her. He went over and ran his fingers along the few remaining healthy leaves. “It’s not dead yet. Still has a chance.”

Jonathan watched him handle the plant, awe rising in his chest. He would never say it out loud - it would sound too sappy - but every day it seemed Dennis did something new that was enchanting to watch. “I didn’t know you knew anything about plants,” he commented.

Dennis let go of the leaves. “Not a lot. Enough to keep them alive in a city apartment, though. I always wanted a rooftop garden when I grew up.”

“I wonder if I can get Angel to spring for a sunlamp,” Cordelia mused. “Maybe it would do him some good too.”

“Maybe,” Jonathan said, distracted by what they had come here to do. “Hey Cordy, can we talk to you? In private?”

Cordelia looked them over, assessing the situation. “What’s wrong.”

“Nothing,” Dennis promised her. “We just need to talk.”

“Office,” Cordelia said, jerking her thumb over her shoulder.

Jonathan and Dennis followed her in. Angel was sitting at his desk, as usual, but Cordelia made an ‘up, up’ gesture with her hand. “We need your office. Go - I don’t know - beat up a boxing bag or something for a while.”

“This is my office,” Angel protested. “You can’t just kick me out of my own office.”

Cordelia leveled him a Look until he sighed and got up. Dennis flashed him an apologetic smile as he left.

Cordelia didn’t sit in the seat Angel had just vacated. She perched on the edge of the desk and regarded them evenly. “What’s up, guys?”

Jonathan and Dennis exchanged a look. Jonathan raised his eyebrows at Dennis; Cordy was  _ his  _ best friend after all, so he should be the one to do the announcement. Dennis nodded almost imperceptibly and looked at Cordy once more. He sat down on one of the chairs facing the desk, but Jonathan preferred to stay standing, at least for now. “Cordy, we...have something we need to talk to you about. We,” he gestured between himself and Jonathan, “um, we’re sort of...dating.”

_ Sort of? _ Jonathan wondered, but Cordelia was already jumping in. “Dating? As in dinner-and-a-movie, making out, buying flowers  _ dating _ ?”

Dennis nodded. “Yes.” Jonathan still didn’t say anything. There was nothing to add.

Cordelia looked from Dennis to Jonathan and back to Dennis. “But neither of you are gay. What is it with all you guys? Is there something in the water that turns you all, like, just a little bit gay but not fully gay? Is it Los Angeles?”

“I’ve always been attracted to both men and women,” Dennis explained.

“I’m not,” Jonathan added. “This is new for me. But…” He trailed off with a self-conscious shrug. “It’s nice. Interesting. I’m willing to see where this leads.”

If anything, Cordelia stared harder. “Have you guys had sex yet?” she blurted out. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.” She inspected her fingernails for a moment, then leaned forward. “But really, have you?”

Jonathan thought his face might actually catch on fire from how red it must be. He felt hot and cold all over. Dennis, however, showed no hint of embarrassment. “Yes,” he said. “And before you ask, yes Jonathan knows about our past.”

Cordelia waved a dismissive hand. “That barely counts as a ‘past.’”

“That’s true,” Dennis conceded. “But it was still worth acknowledging. Oh, and I know  _ your _ past with Jonathan too.” He grinned mischievously.

“We went on  _ one _ date,” Cordelia said. “In  _ high school _ . It was completely innocent.”

“I was basically her personal butler for an evening,” Jonathan said with a roll of his eyes. “Though the goodnight kiss was totally worth it.”

Cordelia made a face at him. “I never kissed you!”

“Yeah, but the guys at school didn’t know that,” Jonathan said wickedly. “Not everyone believed me, of course, but enough that I gained some cred.”

This wasn’t so bad after all, Jonathan figured. He was starting to relax. Cordelia’s reaction was the one he had been most nervous about; she was the wild card in the whole sexuality acceptance thing. Well, her and Angel, who came from a time and religion that wasn’t exactly known for its embracing of alternate sexualities. But if he had accepted Fred, Gunn, and Wesley’s relationship then he probably would accept Dennis and Jonathan too. At least, that was the theory.

“We wanted you to be one of the first people to know,” Dennis told her. “We’re going to tell everyone today, but you’re my best friend and I felt you should know before the others.” He leaned forward and took her hand in his, squeezing gently.

Cordelia, however, wasn’t fooled. “‘One of’?” she repeated. “Who else have you already told before me?”

“Andrew,” Jonathan said. “But, uh, well, we live with him so it’s not like we could keep it a secret.”

“Huh. I had no idea,” Cordelia marvelled. “So why are you telling everyone now?”

Jonathan shrugged. “It’s going well, so...we figure we might as well.”

Cordelia grinned that grin that usually meant she was up to some shenanigan. “Can I tell them?”

“Wha- No!” Jonathan exclaimed. “We’ll do it ourselves. What would you tell them?”

Cordelia tsked loudly. “I never get to have any fun around here anymore. I just want to see the look on their faces. No offence, but of anyone to hook up in this office, I wouldn’t have thought of you two.” Her eyes got wide suddenly. “Did this start when you were dead?” she demanded of Dennis.

“Well, it’s a little hard to date when you’re in-in-incorporeal,” Dennis said. “But the more...physical aspects…”

Cordelia scrunched up her face again. “I don’t want to know. Oh my god. Wow! I had no idea. Good for you guys! It’s about time you two got your heads out of your asses and actually started enjoying yourselves.”

Jonathan relaxed. “Um, thanks. I think. Well, I guess we should go let the others know.” He looked at Dennis. “Ready?”

“Yup.”

At Cordelia’s insistence, they gathered the rest of the team together to hear the news all at once. The reactions ranged from shocked (Angel and Gunn) to surprised but delighted (Fred and Lorne) to congratulatory (Wesley). There were more questions, some the same ones that Cordelia had asked and others that were completely off the wall. Gradually the conversation turned to other gay people members of the team knew, like Gunn’s cousin or a girl Fred knew who would sleep with anyone after three shots of tequila.

“Do you know this first-hand?” Wesley teased with a smile.

“I know from watching her,” Fred retorted.

“Yeah, you do like watchin’, doncha baby girl?” Gunn said, waggling his eyebrows.

And just like that, the focus was off Dennis and Jonathan. “Hey Angel,” Gunn exclaimed after teasing Fred had worn down. “Aren’t vamps known for exuding sexiness? You ever get it on with a dude?”

Angel looked like a deer caught in the headlights. “Well, I - uh, that is…not exactly. I mean, not a living, er, ‘dude’.”

“Ewwwww,” came the collective response.

“No, no wait! I didn’t mean it like that! I just meant...not one of my victims, you know,” Angel protested.

“Then who - oh my god, you and Spike have fucked,” Cordelia said. “You two have….oh ew, that might be worse than having sex with a corpse.”

“Hey,” Angel protested weakly. “It wasn’t that bad…”

“Ever made out with a girl, Cordy?” Fred asked.

Cordelia shook her head. “Nope. I thought my best friend from high school was a lesbian and madly in love with me. Turns out she was just a vampire. But no making out happened that night, I swear.”

Wesley shuddered. “Harmony. I wonder what happened to her - if she’s still out there finding her true potential.”

“Wait - Harmony’s a vampire? Since when? I thought she died at - oh.” Jonathan trailed off, realising what must have happened. “Damn.”

“Graduation,” Cordelia supplied. “The day Hell opened up and tried to swallow us whole.”

“We stopped the apocalypse,” Jonathan said proudly, remembering how good it had felt to work with everyone. How sad when it all ended and they started counting the bodies. Trying to figure out who was missing. The whole scene had been a mess.

There was a long silence after that, as everyone lapsed into their own thoughts. “Do you guys think whatever is going on in Sunnydale is going to be that big again?” Jonathan asked.

“It sounds bigger,” Angel said. “Potentials have been killed, the Watcher’s Council has been destroyed, and even Xander’s been injured. It’s already bigger than what happened at Graduation.”

“Is there anythin’ we can do to help?” Fred asked.

“Buffy hasn’t asked us to come help,” Angel hedged. His leg jittered, betraying his antsyness. “If we come swooping in there, it could mess everything up.”

Cordelia rolled her eyes. “According to Willow, Buffy’s acting like more of an idiot than usual. Does she really think us helping out is going to be somehow more disastrous than the literal Apocalypse?”

“She doesn’t want anyone else to get hurt,” Angel argued, but he didn’t sound altogether convinced himself. He looked lost in thought, like he was planning the best route to get to Sunnydale without Buffy hearing about it.

“My parents know something’s up,” Jonathan said. “They were always one of the ones who kinda knew something fishy was going on but every time things got quiet for a while, they forgot about it. But now they’re talking about leaving Sunnydale altogether. They don’t like what’s going on, even if they don’t realise it’s supernatural in origin.”

“Next time you talk to them, tell them they should get out of there, at least for a little while. Maybe visit some friends or family out of state,” Angel suggested. “Andrew, same goes for your aunt.” He sighed. “We should do something to help, but I feel like we shouldn’t go rushing in unless we have something that will definitely turn the tides.”

“Ask and ye shall receive,” a new, feminine voice drawled.

There was something familiar about her, but Jonathan couldn’t remember where he had seen her face before until Angel said cautiously, “Lilah.” It was the woman Jonathan had seen exiting Wesley’s apartment last summer. She still looked the same: dark, dangerous, and stylish in a way that even Cordy could envy. She stood in the front door, but now that she had everyone’s attention she sauntered down the steps, like a snake slithering towards its prey.

“Hello, Angel,” she said with a smirk. She glanced at Wesley. “Hello, lover.”

Wesley didn’t even blink. Beside him, Fred glared at the woman. “Not anymore,” she growled.

Lilah’s eyes travelled down the length of Fred’s thin body. “Not bad,” she said to Wesley. “But I did think you preferred ‘em with a little more meat.”

Gunn stood up from his chair and went over to his lovers. “Yeah. That’s where I come in.” He crossed his arms over his chest, biceps prominently on display.

Lilah’s smirk grew wider. “Oh, now  _ that _ I would love to see. Got any tapes lying around you might like to share with little ol’ me? I’ve been pretty hard up since you broke up with me, you know.”

“I highly doubt that,” Wesley said softly, dangerously.

“Why are you here, Lilah?” Angel interrupted.

“I’m here to make you an offer,” Lilah said. “I can make your every dream come true. Including - oh, now what is this?” She held in her hand a lumpy manila folder, which she peeked in briefly. “Something that is guaranteed to turn the tides, as you say, in Sunnydale.” She snapped the folder shut.

“We’re not interested,” Angel said. But his eyes never left the folder in her hand.

“You don’t even know what I’m pitching yet,” Lilah said, her lips folding down into a pout. “We want to give you the opportunity of a lifetime. The ability to save thousands of people with just two simple words: ‘I accept.’”

“And what exactly would he be accepting?” Cordelia asked skeptically.

“Oh, it’s not just Angel. It’s all of you. Any one of you - or however many want it - have the chance to accept. We just figure, if Angel says yes, the rest of his little sheepies are bound to follow. Even you,” she said to Jonathan. “Although you don’t technically work here anymore. The offer is open to you as well.”

Jonathan was surprised to be singled out, even more shocked that Lilah knew anything about him. “W-what offer?” he stuttered.

“The opportunity to come work for Wolfram & Hart,” Lilah said. “All eight of you -” She paused, frowned, and did a quick count. She stopped at Dennis. “You. We don’t have any information on  you.”

Dennis smiled and waved at her. “Dennis Pearson. I was a ghost until last Christmas. But I know plenty about you, Lilah.”

Lilah shrugged. “Who doesn’t?” She turned her attention back to the group as a whole. “That’s fine - I think I can talk my superiors into extending the offer even further. I’m sure we could have a use for someone who used to be dead. Ever used an Ouija board?”

“What the hell makes you think you can offer us anything we’d be interested in?” Angel demanded.

“I already told you,” Lilah said patiently. “We’re giving you the opportunity to help thousands of people.”

Lorne scoffed. “Thousands of criminals and demons, you mean.”

“Nope. Whoever you want. Angel would be in charge of the whole L.A branch of Wolfram & Hart. You would have resources at your fingertips that you can’t even imagine. Don’t believe me? We’re happy to give you a full tour of our facilities.” She winked at Angel. “We’ll even turn off the vampire detectors.”

“We’re not interested,” Fred said. “Why would you even want Angel in charge of Wolfram & Hart anyway? Isn’t he your ‘sworn enemy’ or whatever?”

“What you guys don’t know is that a few months ago, you stopped the world from becoming a much happier place,” Lilah said. “My superiors like that kind of initiative, you know. Anything that keeps the world miserable and muddy is just fine by us. We want to reward you.”

“We did no such thing,” Wesley scoffed.

“Oh, but you did,” Lilah said with a grin. “See, Cordelia here was supposed to usher in a world of peace and tranquility by giving birth to a goddess. I won’t bore you with all the icky details, but let’s just say it involved a certain prodigal son.”

“I felt it,” Cordelia said, remembering. “On Thanksgiving. I felt the moment of potential pass.”

Lilah flicked a finger gun at Cordelia and imitated a cocking sound. “You got it. That goddess would have provided the world with nothing but goodness and love. But you stepped away from that path and instead…” She waved her hand around her as if to incorporate the whole world. “Here we are, still stuck in the mud. And it’s all thanks to you guys.”

“Anything that touts world peace is a sham,” Wesley said wryly. “It is impossible to eradicate all sources of conflict. What benefit would this goddess get out of total placidity from humans?”

Lilah shrugged. “Some people just like others to be happy, I guess. Personally, I don’t understand it. But then, I’m only human.” She flashed them a predatory smile. “Well, you don’t have to decide right now. There’s still that tour on offer. But before you decide whether or not to come on the tour...here.” She held the file out to Angel. “Take it. Save the world. We’re not ready for it to be over either, you know. Save the world and all the unhappy, miserable people in it - and remember who made that possible for you.”

Angel made no move to accept the file. “We don’t want it. We’ll do just fine on our own.”

“I’ll take it,” Cordelia said decisively. She held out her hand, and Lilah handed over the file.

“I knew I could count on someone here to be reasonable,” Lilah said smoothly. “I’ll see you kids later.” She turned on her heel and swiftly walked out the door.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Angel demanded of Cordelia.

Cordelia opened the file folder and pulled out a strange-looking amulet. “They want something from us, badly enough they give us this? I want to know what it is they’re after.” She held up the amulet to her neck. “Besides, don’t you think this would go really well with my purple top?”

Angel snatched the amulet from her. “This is probably really dangerous. You don’t know what it’s capable of yet.”

“I’ll take a look at it,” Wesley offered, holding out his hand.

“We’re not really going to work for them?” Andrew asked. “They’re - they’re evil. We don’t work for evil.”

“Not a chance,” Angel assured him. “No matter how many necklaces and promises they give us.”

“But...we’re still going to at least take them up on the offer of a tour, right?” Fred asked. Everyone looked at her. “So we can see what they’re up to! I’m not sayin’ I wanna work for the most evil corporation to ever exist - I just wanna know what they think is gonna change our minds. Maybe figure out what they’re after.”

Angel stared off into the middle distance. “Maybe,” he said after a moment.

“How did they know I don’t work here anymore?” Jonathan asked. “Or that I ever did in the first place?”

Cordelia shrugged. “These guys are information machines. It’s their job to know everything.”

“Do you think they know about our past?” Andrew asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe? But what difference does that make?”

“Can we get back to the matter at hand?” Wesley asked. He nodded slightly at Cordelia. “What does the file say about the amulet?”

Cordelia opened the file. “Hm, most evil object to ever appear on earth. Will destroy anyone who wears it. Don’t pair with green.” She looked up at Wesley. “I don’t know, it’s all in Greek or something. Here.” She thrust the file at Andrew, who opened it up.

“It’s Ancient Sumerian,” he said. “Um, this is just a loose translation but I think it says the amulet has scrubbing powers? Or maybe that’s purifying. Gives strength to someone who is human. No, wait, more than human. But they have to have a soul.”

“More than human?” Gunn asked. “How so?”

“Uh, like, stronger?” Andrew squinted at the text and showed Wesley a particular word.

“Stronger, more powerful,” Wesley confirmed.

“So it makes someone who is already superhuman into a super-superhuman?” Fred said. 

“Me,” Angel said decisively. “I have to go to Sunnydale and I have to wear this amulet.” He leaned forward to take it from Wesley. He held it up against the fluorescent lights. “It could be a trap. There could be risks. I won’t put anyone else into that danger.”

“When do we leave?” Cordelia asked.

Angel stared at her, exasperated. “Weren’t you just listening? I’m going alone in case this is a trap.”

“Have you completely lost your mind? Of course it could be a trap, which is why you need a little thing we in the business like to call backup,” Cordelia said. “Besides, I know what a gibbering mess you turn into around Buffy; someone has to be there to stop you making a fool of yourself.”

“No way am I missin’ out on the apocalypse,” Gunn said. “I’m in.”

“Me too,” Fred and Wesley said at the same time.

“I’m going,” Andrew said. His face looked a little pale, but he was determined.

“I don’t want to be the only one left behind,” Lorne said with a strained smile. “I’m in.”

“You won’t be,” Angel said. “Lorne, if you don’t want to go, then you don’t have to. Jonathan’s not going, and neither is Dennis.”

“What? I never said that,” Jonathan protested at the same time Dennis exclaimed, “Pardon me?”

Angel looked at the both of them, bewildered. “Dennis, you don’t have any fighting experience. And Jonathan, what about your job? You don’t work here anymore.”

“So everyone keeps reminding me,” Jonathan said. “I’m going to try to get time off - and if I can’t, then I’ll call in sick or quit or whatever it takes. I’m going to be in Sunnydale, first to make sure my parents get out of there safely, and then to help stop the apocalypse. I didn’t quit Angel Investigations because I was a coward or anything.”

“We never thought you were a coward,” Fred said gently, laying her hand on Jonathan’s knee.

“I’m going, too,” Dennis said. “I do not want to be left behind again.”

“Sweetie, I think that’s a really bad idea,” Cordelia said. Jonathan was inclined to agree, but he also understood Dennis’ aversion to waiting at home while his friends were in danger.

“I’ll stay out of the heavy fighting,” Dennis promised. “But I can help with c-coordination efforts or - or whatever.”

Still, Angel looked worried. “You guys -”

“No more arguments,” Cordelia said firmly. “Wes, how long do you need to give that thing a really good going-over?”

“If Jonathan doesn’t mind assisting me as a consultant, it shouldn’t take more than two days,” Wesley said.

“I don’t mind,” Jonathan said. “I can swing by any time I’m not at work.”

“So three days from now, if Wes gives us the okay, we roll out for Sunnydale. Agreed?” Cordelia asked the group. One by one they all assented.

“When did you become in charge?” Angel grumbled under his breath.

“Aw, so cute,” Cordelia said dryly. “I’ve always been in charge. You just didn’t know it.”

The group slowly broke up after that. Jonathan made his goodbyes and, with Dennis and Andrew, headed for the car to drive home.

“Wow,” Dennis said as he settled into the passenger seat. “The ap-poc...apoc...end of the world, huh? Sort of puts us telling everyone about our relationship into perspective.”

Jonathan shook his head. “I almost forgot that’s why we came here in the first place.” He pulled onto the street and glanced at Dennis. “You really don’t have to get involved.”

“No,” Dennis said. “I do. I can’t sit at home waiting to see who returns, if anyone. I can’t take on a vampire in hand-to-hand combat, but I can do  _ something _ helpful.” He looked from Jonathan to Andrew in the backseat. “Are you guys worried about Buffy’s reaction to seeing you?”

“Not really,” Jonathan admitted. “She’ll probably just ignore us. I think she’s got other stuff on her mind.”

“She saved us last year from Dark Willow,” Andrew added.

“Because she didn’t want Willow to go any further than she already had,” Jonathan said. Still, it counted for something.

\---

Later that night, Jonathan went into the room he shared with Andrew to try to fall asleep. He and Dennis, in spite of living together, chose not to share a bedroom yet. They had plenty of sex, and often slept together, but not every night.

But tonight, in spite of his best intentions to get a restful night’s sleep, Jonathan found himself wide awake and unable to drift off. His thoughts kept going over and over everything that had happened that day: from coming out to the promise to go to Sunnydale with the rest of the team. He was worried about Dennis and worried about getting time off from work and worried about what would happen to them all in Sunnydale. When he went to bed, he had felt like he needed space, needed not to be touched right now, but the longer he tossed and turned (thank God Andrew was a heavy sleeper) the more he felt like something - someone - was missing from his arms.

At 2 in the morning, Jonathan finally gave up and slipped out of bed. He crept down the hall to Dennis’ room and sneaked inside. The bed dipped as he crawled onto it, but Dennis barely stirred. He settled down and looped an arm around Dennis’ waist, holding him loosely. Dennis sighed in his sleep and curled closer to Jonathan. The movement sparked something strange in Jonathan’s chest - not lust, but something else that made his heart twist with unbelievable happiness.

Holding protectively onto Dennis like this, Jonathan at last managed to drift into sleep.


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Some sex talk at the end of the chapter but nothing explicit(ish)

Sunnydale.

Jonathan’s heart pounded uncomfortably in his chest as he navigated the traffic. He’d never seen so many cars active on the small town’s streets all at once. All headed in the same direction - towards the town limits. They were leaving en masse, heading the opposite way as Jonathan and the rest of the team, though that hardly made driving easier as often the cars were taking up both sides of the road as they streamed (at a 5 mph trickle) towards the highway. Jonathan kept his eyes peeled for his parents’ car but saw no sign of it. When Jonathan called earlier to let them know he was coming home briefly, they said they would wait for him. But if they decided after 5 hours they couldn’t wait for him any longer, he could hardly blame them.

Andrew, Dennis and Lorne had come along with him in Ol’ Granny. The rest of the crew would come later, at night so Angel could travel safely. Why Lorne had chosen to travel in broad daylight, knowing full well he would stick out like a sore thumb, Jonathan didn’t quite understand. He wondered if it might have something to do with a similar sort of antsiness that Jonathan himself felt - the urge to move, even if he couldn’t do much of anything yet.

“As long as your folks don’t come at me with pitchforks, I’ll be fine.” Lorne had assured him. “Besides, I want to meet the people who produced such a handsome young man.” He had winked then, causing Jonathan to blush. He never knew what to make of Lorne’s flirtations.

“I want to see your parents again, too,” Andrew had said. “Maybe they’ve heard from Aunt Beth.”

Andrew hadn’t heard from his aunt in weeks, and it was making him worried. They assumed she had been in one of the first waves of people to leave Sunnydale, but there was no way to know for certain. She didn’t have a cell phone, and she hadn’t gotten hold of Andrew.

“What about you?” Jonathan had asked Dennis, who sat in the passenger seat. “Do you want to meet my parents?” The thought - that his  _ boyfriend _ was going to meet his parents - made his heart flip.

“I can’t wait,” Dennis had said with a smile.

Now, Jonathan turned off the main road, blissfully getting away from the heaviest traffic. Here, though, the homes began to take on a definite abandoned look. Garbage lay strewn all over, toys lay overturned in yards, and random objects dangled from trees. At one point there was a toilet seat hanging from an electricity wire; Jonathan couldn’t imagine the circumstances that led to that.

A few minutes later, he pulled up to his parents’ house and stared at it for a moment before shutting off the car engine. His mom must have been watching out the front window for him, because a moment later she was at the front door waving to him. Even from this distance, Jonathan could see the tears on her face.

“Um, stay here for a moment, guys,” Jonathan said. He unbuckled his seatbelt and nearly tripped getting out of the car. He dashed up to the front door and just about plowed his poor mother over when he threw himself at her in a huge hug. He always hated seeing her cry, especially when he knew he was the cause.

“Oh, my baby, you’re home,” his mother murmured, holding him tight. They were of a similar height, though Jonathan was taller than her by an inch. Still, they were close enough that Jonathan could rest his head against her shoulder, and for this one moment it didn’t feel like the world was about to end.

“How much time do you have before you want to leave?” Jonathan murmured. “Traffic going out was really bad.”

“We’ll wait a couple hours for it to die down, but I don’t want to wait any longer than that,” his mother replied. “I don’t even know why you’re here.”

Jonathan pulled away. “I told you, mom. I need to be here. I need to help with whatever is going to happen here.”

Jonathan’s mother frowned at him. “I don’t like it. This is more of your secretiveness.” She sighed, but it wasn’t one of her playful put-upon Jewish Mother ™ sighs. She looked genuinely worried. “You should come with us to your aunt and uncle’s place.”

“I’ll come see you there after I’m finished here,” Jonathan promised. “A few more days off work won’t make much of a difference.”

“Gerald, Jonathan’s here,” Jonathan’s mom called out. They moved towards the living room, which looked exactly how Jonathan remembered it, except now every suitcase and carry-all his parents owed was piled up in between the couch and loveseat. Jonathan’s dad came out of the kitchen, with a tote bag stuffed full of food.

“Hey, son.” He set the bag down and came over to pull Jonathan into a big hug. “We’re so glad you came.”

Jonathan squeezed his dad tight. “Yeah. I had to see you guys before you left. Um, I brought some friends with me. Andrew and two other guys.”

Jonathan’s mom peered out the front window. “Whose car is that?”

Jonathan lifted his chin proudly. “It’s mine. I saved up for it. It runs really well even if it does look like a piece of sh- crap.”

Jonathan’s mom frowned at him. “You watch your mouth. Just because you’re an adult doesn’t mean you can swear in my house.”

“I didn’t!” Jonathan protested.

“Jonathan, why don’t your friends come inside?” Jonathan’s dad asked. “We have enough time to chat for a little while before we need to head out. It won’t get dark for a while and maybe traffic will ease up at that point.”

“Sure. Yeah. Um, I just wanted to warn you first that my friend Lorne has a...skin condition. And I’m sort of...dating, um, Dennis.” Jonathan hesitated, waiting for their response.

There was a moment as his parents processed this information. Jonathan’s mom glanced at his dad, who looked puzzled. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure I heard that right,” Jonathan’s dad said. “You’re dating…?”

“Dennis. His name is Dennis. He’s a couple years older than me, but we get along really well.” Jonathan shrugged. “Maybe it’s just an experiment or a phase, but I wanted you to meet him.”

“You’ll be bringing him along when you visit us in Arizona after this nonsense, I hope,” Jonathan’s mom said. She made it sound like a request, but Jonathan could tell from her tone it wasn’t optional. If he survived this, he would be taking his...boyfriend (it was still weird to think of that word)... for a weekend visit to his parents. That was possibly a more terrifying thought than the upcoming apocalypse.

“Sure, Mom,” Jonathan said weakly. “Of course.”

“Gerald, do we have any food for our guests?” Jonathan’s mom fussed as Jonathan went to the front door and waved to the others to come inside. He bit back a smile; his mom was always feeding anyone who came through her doors. She began digging through the tote bag of snacks while Jonathan’s dad disappeared back into the kitchen. Andrew, Dennis, and Lorne piled out of the car and hurried up the front walkway. Jonathan stood back to let them in.

“Hi, Mrs. Levinson!” Andrew said.

Jonathan’s mom tsked quietly over him as she pulled him in for a hug, abandoning the search for food for the moment. Her eyes travelled over Lorne’s face but she said nothing. If she realised she was in the presence of someone not-quite-human, Jonathan couldn’t have said. Instead, her eyes lighted on Dennis and she looked him over critically. Dennis smiled politely.

Jonathan made the introductions quickly. His parents shook hands all around, complimenting Lorne on his handsome suit and welcoming Dennis to their home. Dennis shot Jonathan a questioning look, which Jonathan replied to with a slight nod. As the group moved to sit down in the living room, Jonathan edged closer to Dennis and whispered, “You’re under orders to come with me to Arizona after we stop the apocalypse.”

Dennis took Jonathan’s hand and gave it a brief squeeze before dropping it. “Yes, sir.”

“Yes, ma’am, you mean. It’s my mom’s orders.”

“I promise I’ll be the best gentleman your parents have ever met,” Dennis said.

“I know. You’ll be so polite they’ll want to adopt you,” Jonathan said with a snort.

Dennis shook his head. “I don’t want to date my brother, sorry. I guess this means we’re over.”

Jonathan and Dennis settled onto the couch with Andrew; Lorne perched on one of the arm rests, while Jonathan’s parents took the loveseat. Jonathan gave Dennis a scandalized look. “You’re choosing my parents over me?” he hissed.

Dennis’ eyes danced playfully, but whatever his retort would have been was cut off by Jonathan’s mom asking, “Do any of you know what’s happening here? We’re all leaving our homes some of us have been in for decades. What is going to happen to Sunnydale? What’s going to happen to us?”

Jonathan exchanged glances with his friends. “I don’t really know, Mom. I just know it’s better if everyone leaves town for a while. We’ll take care of things.”

“You’re just kids,” Jonathan’s mom said.

“But look what they did at their graduation,” Jonathan’s dad murmured speculatively, cutting off what looked like a hot retort from Lorne, probably about the “kids” comment. “When I think about that day, it’s like a fuzzy dream. But something happened, and the kids stopped it.”

“This isn’t quite going to be the same,” Jonathan admitted. “But it will be similar.”

Jonathan’s mom frowned. “People  _ died _ at your graduation. Kids died.”

“I won’t die,” Jonathan promised her. “None of us will.” It was a tall order, but he was determined to see it through.

“Jonathan’s a good fighter,” Lorne assured her.

Jonathan’s mom stared at him, aghast. “Is that supposed to be reassuring, Mr. Lorne? My baby doesn’t call me for months on end, never visits, and next thing I know he’s living in L.A. and now he’s a ‘good fighter’? Is that supposed to make me happy?”

“Mom,” Jonathan protested.

Jonathan’s dad laid a hand on her shoulder. “We don’t like it, Jonathan. I hope you understand that. We don’t like all the secrets and lies, even if you think you’re doing it to protect us or because you think you can’t talk to us. We just want you to be safe.”

Jonathan looked down at his knees. “I know. I - I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think it was important.”

Dennis’ hand inched over just enough to brush Jonathan’s hip comfortingly. It was the tiniest movement, but Jonathan’s mom zeroed in on it like a hawk. Her lips twitched ever so slightly. She sighed, begrudging. “Fine. You want to keep your secrets for now, fine. Give your poor mother a heart attack, that’s perfectly fine. Dennis, what do your parents think of all this?”

Jonathan’s stomach lurched, but Dennis just bowed his head slightly. “My parents are no longer alive, ma’am. They both passed away some time ago.”

“Dennis isn’t going to be in any danger,” Jonathan jumped in. This had been a major debate back at the Hyperion - whether or not Dennis should even be coming along. “He’s going to help with tactics and stuff, but he won’t be in any direct fighting.”

“Why can’t you do that too?” Jonathan’s mom demanded.

“Jonathan’s going to be sticking with me as much as possible,” Dennis said. It was only a half-truth. Jonathan planned to stay with Dennis and guard him as much as possible, but if Buffy said otherwise, he didn’t have much room to argue. She would be the one calling the shots.

This seemed to, if not completely appease Jonathan’s mom, at least got her to relent ever so slightly. “I still don’t like it,” she muttered mostly to herself. “I want you to come with us.”

“I’ll see you soon,” Jonathan promised.

“Um, Mrs. Levinson?” Andrew spoke up. “I was wondering if you’d heard anything from my aunt? I haven’t been able to get in touch with her.”

“No, I haven’t, I’m sorry,” Jonathan’s mom said. “You haven’t heard from her at all? I think she left last week. Maybe she wasn’t expecting to be gone this long.”

While Jonathan’s mom focused on trying to figure out if she had a forwarding address for Andrew’s aunt (they hadn’t been close and probably never would have known each other if not for Jonathan and Andrew’s friendship, but they had kept in touch after the boys disappeared), Jonathan’s dad leaned over to talk to Dennis. “What is it you do when you’re not saving towns from imminent destruction?” he asked, voice strained in spite of the levity of his words.

Dennis cleared his throat slightly. “I’m currently on disability, sir,” he said. “I was injured in a car accident a few months ago. Recovery has been slow going, but I now longer have to use a wheelchair, so that’s good. I’m not sure I’d be up to saving the world with a wheelchair.”

“Don’t tell that to Christopher Reeves,” Jonathan’s dad said. “If Superman could do it, then I’m sure you could.”

Jonathan didn’t point out that by the time Christopher Reeves was in a wheelchair, he wasn’t Superman anymore - though, of course he always would be in most of the world’s imagination. So maybe it did count for something after all.

“What did you do before the accident?” Jonathan’s dad asked.

“Dad,” Jonathan hissed sharply. “What’s with the third degree?”

Jonathan’s dad shrugged casually. Too casually. “I just want to get to know your friend.”

“I don’t see you asking Lorne the same questions,” Jonathan said. The one good thing about never having dates in high school and college was that Jonathan had never before been subjected to having someone he really liked grilled by his parents. He was a little surprised this questioning was coming from his dad; it was his mom whom he had assumed he’d have to fend off. Normally, it wouldn’t be all that awkward to let his parents ask a few innocent questions, but the typical get-to-know-your-son’s-date questions were a little tricky when it came to Dennis’ unique history. Where do you come from, who are your parents, what do you do for a living, who were your childhood heroes - all of these things couldn’t be answered without some artful dodging.

“I don’t mind,” Dennis assured Jonathan gently. To Jonathan’s dad, he said, “I was in school, actually. I was studying education. I want to be a teacher eventually.”

Jonathan tried not to let his surprise show on his face. It sounded so natural to almost be true, he thought. As if it were based in actuality, rather than something Dennis had made up on the fly.

“Oh, that’s great,” Jonathan’s dad said. “We need good teachers. It seems like our schools have been getting worse and worse for years. What level do you want to teach?”

“I was thinking elementary or middle school,” Dennis said.

The questions continued - benign in nature, but Jonathan was on edge. The obvious question - “How did you two meet?” - was fielded with an evasive response: “Through Cordelia Chase.” This thankfully changed the course of conversation to Cordelia and the strange work she did in Los Angeles with Andrew and Lorne, among others.

Jonathan’s mom, who had come up empty-handed for Andrew, now turned to a startling mix of questions about Dennis and Jonathan’s relationship, and further admonishments for all of them about getting mixed up in whatever deadly business was about to happen in Sunnydale. His parents might not be altogether knowledgeable when it came to the supernatural, but they could tell whatever was about to happen was dangerous. And that had them scared. No amount of reassurances could convince Jonathan’s mom in particular that they would be safe. Nobody said the word “apocalypse” but there was an air of finality as Jonathan’s dad said at last, “The sun’s going to go down soon. We should go.”

Jonathan’s mom glanced out the window, then looked back at the boys. “Come with us,” she pleaded one last time. “Please, Jonathan.” Tears rose in her eyes. “Whatever you think you have to do here, you don’t. Just leave with us. All four of you.”

Jonathan shook his head firmly, though he could feel answering tears threatening to well up. “They’re expecting us. I’ll see you soon - I promise.”

They all rose and exchanged hugs, even Lorne and Dennis. “Trust me, I’m willing to survive any manner of chaos and mayhem to try those blueberry scones you told us about,” Lorne said; if anyone noticed his grin waivered, nobody mentioned it. “If Jonathan doesn’t bring some back from Arizona at the end of his visit, I’ll have to show up on your doorstep myself.”

Jonathan’s mom gave a tiny smile. Even in her distress, she couldn’t help but be charmed by Lorne’s attempts to lighten the mood. She patted his green cheek softly. “If you keep my baby safe, I’ll bake you a dozen batches,” she promised.

“I’ll do everything in my power,” Lorne said.

“Me, too,” Dennis added.

“Me, three,” Andrew said.

Jonathan ducked his head. “We’ll all be looking out for each other,” he mumbled. He didn’t deserve any special attention in the battlefield. “Andrew’s always had my back, Mom. And Lorne and Dennis have recently, too.”

Jonathan’s mom sighed as a tear coursed down her cheek. “I suppose you’re an adult now. I can’t force you to come with us.” Resigned, she moved to the front door, carrying a couple of the bags. Jonathan’s heart tore to see the disappointed look she gave him as she walked out the door. Jonathan and his dad followed with the rest of the bags.

At the car they said their last goodbyes, and then Jonathan’s parents backed out of the driveway and were gone.

Jonathan watched until their car was gone around the corner before turning back to the house. They had run of the place, which was good because according to Angel - who heard it from Giles - the Summers house was full past capacity. The rest of Angel Investigations would meet them here and then go to 1630 Revello Drive together to offer their help with the upcoming battle.

Dennis came out to stand next to Jonathan, who still hadn’t moved even though his parents’ car was long gone. “They’ll be fine,” Dennis said softly.

“I know,” Jonathan said. “I’m a little more worried about having made some promises I might not be able to keep.”

Dennis’ hand crept over to hold Jonathan’s. “I’ll do my best to make sure you keep your promises.”

Jonathan scowled at Dennis. “You worry about yourself. I still say you shouldn’t even be here. You should be home, staying out of danger.” Dennis opened his mouth, but Jonathan cut off whatever he was about to say. “Yes, I’m aware that’s exactly what my parents just said to me. Don’t even start.”

“I would never,” Dennis said innocently. He gave Jonathan’s hand a tug. “C’mon. I want to see your childhood bedroom.”

\---

The rest of the team arrived a few hours after the sun had set. Although it was fast approaching 10:00, they piled into the two cars and headed over to the Summers’ residence. The streets on the way over were eerily deserted, with trash littering the normally well-kept lawns. What they found at 1630 Revello Drive, however, was barely controlled chaos. Even at this hour, teenage girls swarmed the lawn, most of whom looked worried and eyed the two cars with suspicion. One girl in particular approached as they got out of the cars. She had a blunt face and there was something confrontational about her stance. “Stop right there. Don’t come any closer,” she said.

Jonathan hesitated, but Angel barely glanced at the girl as he searched the faces for someone familiar. “Where’s Buffy?”

“Who do you think you are?” the girl demanded. “Listen, if you work for Caleb or The First, you better know you won’t be walking out of here alive.”

A few of the other girls shifted into fighting stances, but many of them backed away nervously. Angel looked around him, face impassive. When he spoke, he addressed the girl who was clearly taking charge. “We’re here to help. I’m looking for Buffy or Giles or Willow.”

“I feel like I should be offended,” A masculine voice said. A shadow moved on the porch and a figured stepped forward. Jonathan had to do a double-take to make sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him: it was Xander Harris, but he was wearing an eyepatch. “First Buffy tries to get me out of harm’s way, now I’m not even in the top slots of people to talk to? Is there an international statute against taking me seriously?”

“Yes,” Cordelia responded immediately. “But that’s been in effect since you were born. Why are you only noticing now?”

Xander raised an eyebrow - the one above the visible eye. “Oh, now I know it’s the end of days. Queen C is back in Sunnydale.”

“And ready to kick apocalyptic ass, you better believe it,” Cordelia said.

“Can you save the bickering for some other time?” Angel snapped. “Where’s Buffy?”

“She’s not here,” Xander told him. “Didn’t your super-awesome vampy senses tell you that?”

The brash girl who had spoken to Angel moved quickly - but not Slayer-level quickly. In a blink she had a stake in her hand; a millisecond later, Angel batted it out of her hand like a kitten going after a piece of fluff. “This guy’s a vampire?” the girl demanded, backing away.

“Yeah, but of the ensouled variety,” Xander said. “He’s harmless...mostly. Just nobody have sex with him and we’ll all be safe.”

Angel ignored the girls now whispering and glaring at him, and turned to Cordelia instead. “I’m going to go find Buffy and tell her about the amulet. You guys stay here and help out with whatever needs doing.”

“I’m going with you,” Cordelia said immediately.

“You should stay -” Angel started to argue, but Cordelia was already halfway back to the car. Angel had no choice but to follow. They climbed in and peeled away, leaving the others to stand awkwardly.

“Just so y’all know, the rest of us ain’t vampires,” Gunn said.

With Angel and Cordelia gone, it was up to Wesley to step forward and explain what they were doing there. Xander brought them inside, and Jonathan could see that he wasn’t the only one recently injured. The whole house smelled of blood and disinfectant, and several girls were lying on cots in the living room; they had a variety of burns and cuts and broken limbs.

“They got caught in a trap,” Xander explained. “Faith was leading them. She’s upstairs in Buffy’s room right now, recovering. Giles and Willow are trying to research this magic scythe Buffy found. I don’t know what Buffy’s going to say when she sees you; she’s been pretty off her base recently. But I’m glad to have the extra help.”

Wesley nodded. “We’ll do whatever we can to help. Fred and I can assist with research. Jonathan, Dennis, and Lorne can help with nursing and caring for the injured.”

“What about us?” Gunn asked, indicating himself and Andrew.

Wesley glanced at Xander, who shrugged. “You know their strengths better than I do. Well, his at least.” Xander pointed to Gunn. “Far as I know, that one’s strength is X-Men trivia and following around sociopaths.” He scowled at Andrew with his one good eye.

Jonathan bristled on Andrew’s behalf, but Wesley stepped in before he could say anything he might later regret. “You’re right. You don’t know his strengths as well as I do.” There was cold reprimand in his tone, but Xander didn’t look chastened. “Gunn, Andrew - the girls on the front lawn looked like they could use some pointers on how to get the better of a vampire at close range. They may not be Slayers, but that makes it even more important that they know how to fight as an ordinary humans against supernatural opponents.”

Gunn nodded. “We got this. C’mon.” Andrew followed him back outside, casting one last worried glance at Xander before shutting the door behind him.

“We don’t mean to step on any toes,” Wesley said quietly. “We just want to help.”

Xander shrugged. “I’ll take the help right now. Morale’s not great and it’s getting worse by the day. Until Buffy or Faith says otherwise, you’re welcome to take charge for a while.”

“Is it wise to allow Faith to be in charge?” Wesley asked.

“Right now I’d say Buff’s not doing all that much better at leading,” Xander said. “We’re basically all running around like chickens with our heads cut off. Or eyes gouged out, as the case may be.” He glanced at Dennis. “We don’t have much in the way of medical supplies, but you’re welcome to make do with whatever you can.”

Dennis looked to Jonathan for direction, a subtle indication that when it came to medical stuff, he was in charge. It was hard to tell if Xander noticed, however, as he had already turned his attention to Wesley. “Book nerds this way.” He led them upstairs.

Jonathan went into the living room to check out the situation there. There were a lot of badly injured girls being tended to by less-injured girls. Overall, they painted a bleak picture. Jonathan felt helpless in the face of so much pain. What did he know about nursing, really? Not much. But more than Anya, it seemed, who was blithely telling a girl with burn wounds that she would be dying soon. The girl, shockingly, was not very relieved by this news.

“Your burns aren’t that bad,” Jonathan hastened to assure the poor girl. “I’ve seen a lot worse.”

Anya eyed him warily. “So I guess you’re fighting on the side of good now,” she said tonelessly. “That’s what Willow said.”

Jonathan looked around for some sort of burn salve; all he found was a large bottle of aloe. He wasn’t sure that was really meant for this type of burn, but he couldn’t find anything else. “Yeah, I guess,” he said in response to Anya’s not-question. “Being evil’s not really all it’s cracked up to be.”

Anya gave him an unreadable look. “Join the club,” she said flatly. She moved to check on a girl who had a broken leg.

Jonathan, Dennis, and Lorne moved through the room, helping where they could. Jonathan tore up sheets to use as bandages, while Dennis disappeared into the kitchen to make some soup; Lorne crooned gently to the girls, lulling them into fitful sleeps. Several of them twitched with nightmares. Jonathan had some of his mage supplies with him, but he had been expecting to use them in battle, not...not here. Not for this. He didn’t have nearly enough to tend to every injury, and no idea if he could even begin to triage which ones were the worst.

Xander returned briefly to check on them. Jonathan gestured to his eye. “What happened?”

“Oh, you know. Big baddie decided to do a Little Jack Horner impression on my face,” Xander said.

“Huh?” Jonathan frowned, then remembered the nursery rhyme.  _ Little Jack Horner sat in the corner eating his pumpkin pie. He stuck in his thumb and pulled out a plum and said ‘What a good boy am I!’ _ “Holy shit. That’s...I’m sorry.” He swallowed hard. “Are you okay?”

Xander gave him a lopsided grin. “Of course. Not going to let a little thing like depth perception get in my way.” He disappeared upstairs again.

After nearly an hour, Gunn, Andrew, and the girls from the lawn trooped inside, looking weary. Gunn shook his head when Jonathan shot him a questioning look, then disappeared into the back yard.

Andrew came to help Jonathan set a broken arm with ripped up sheets and makeshift splints. “You’re using wooden spatulas?” he asked, scandalized.

Jonathan paused to wipe sweat from his forehead. “If you’ve got a better idea, I’d be glad to hear it,” he snapped. “We’re running out of stuff. We need salves and stitches and bandages and ointments and splints, and we don’t have  _ any _ of that.”

“Maybe we can get some?” Andrew suggested. “Like at the local hospital? If you explain what’s going on, maybe they’ll let us have some supplies.”

Anya piped up, “Hospital’s evacuated, just like the rest of the town.” Her eyes lit up. “We could just go and grab whatever we need.”

Andrew licked his lips. “But that would be stealing.”

Jonathan scratched his head, considering. He didn’t notice the smear of blood he left behind. “I dunno,” he said. “We really need the supplies. And no one there is using them.”

“But when the evacuees return, they’ll need them then,” Andrew said.

“Maybe,” Lorne said from across the room. “But I’m guessing not too many people will be returning to Sunnydale after this, if any. And if I’m wrong, we can figure out a way to pay them back.”

“The needs of the many,” Jonathan reminded Andrew softly.

Andrew looked from one of them to the next. “Okay,” he relented at last. “I’m in.”

Anya jumped up. “I’ll drive,” she announced. “I need to get out of this death chamber for a while.”

Several of the girls who were still awake groaned and whimpered. They’d been listening to Anya’s talk of death all evening and were sick of it. “I’ll go too,” Lorne volunteered.

“Me three,” Andrew said.”

“I’ll stay here,” Jonathan said. They had taken care of the worst wounds, and he wanted to see if he could throw together some unguents or balms in the kitchen. Plus, Dennis was looking a little droopy, and Jonathan wanted to keep an eye on him. “Have fun storming the castle,” he said to Andrew with a tired smile, knowing Andrew would get and appreciate the reference.

Once the other three had left, Jonathan turned to Dennis, who gave him a sleepy smile. “You okay?” Jonathan asked him.

“I’m fine,” Dennis said. “Just a bit tired. I should have napped while we were waiting for the others to show up.”

“You can nap now if you want,” Jonathan said. He hated sounding like his was fussing, but he was a little worried about Dennis. “I’ll wake you when we’re ready to leave.”

Dennis’ reply was cut off by the front door slamming open and Buffy storming inside, carrying a scythe and followed by Angel, Cordelia, and Spike.

“- care what any of you say!” Buffy was saying hotly. “I don’t need to drag you into this. The amulet is meant for me, so I get to decide who wears it!”

“Like hell you do,” Angel and Spike snarled at the same time, then glared at each other. “I’ll wear it,” Angel said.

“I will,” Spike countered. “She trusts me more, hah!”

“She does not,” Angel said.

“Well, sounds like you three have this covered,” Cordelia said. “I won’t be wearing the amulet. It doesn’t match anything I brought with me.”

“It’s meant to be worn by a champion,” Angel countered. “That’s me. Cordy, tell them.”

Cordelia inspected her fingernails. “It was a gift from an evil lawyer corporation,” she said. “I say let Spike wear the damn thing.”

“Thank y- wait a second,” Spike said.

“Enough, all of you,” Buffy said, whirling around on her followers. She caught a glimpse of the girls in the living room, Jonathan, and Dennis all watching her, and lowered her voice. “It’s up to me to decide, okay? There’s a few contenders here, including me or Faith. Any one of us fits the bill. I’ll be the one to make the decision.”

“But -” Angel started to protest, but Buffy interrupted him.

“No buts! You and your friends shouldn’t even be here. You should be in L.A. acting as a second front in case we don’t succeed here. We should have all our eggs in one Humpty Dumpty basket. Especially when a few of us are already cracked.”

“A bloke goes insane for a little while is no reason to call him cracked,” Spike muttered.

“Pretty sure that’s exactly the reason to call someone cracked,” Angel countered. Spike opened his mouth to retort, but Buffy let out a noise of frustration and stormed off again, amulet clutched tight in her fist. Angel and Cordelia looked at each other, a silent conversation ensuing that left Cordelia glaring and Angel looking like a whipped puppy. Spike stared after Buffy, then glared at the people watching him from the living room.

“What’re you lookin’ at?” he snapped at Jonathan.

“Nothing,” Jonathan muttered. He busied himself with a cut that didn’t really need his attention.

Spiked huffed and retreated through a door that Jonathan had no idea where it led.

“What happened?” Dennis asked Cordelia.

She finished off her silent conversation and came into the living room. She looked at the girls without giving any indication she actually saw them. “We got there just as Buffy was about to become mincemeat with her own scythe. Then the typical story: Angel and Buffy making eyes at each other, conveniently forgetting  _ anyone else _ in the room.” The last bit was said with a poignant glare at Angel.

“It was the adrenaline of the moment,” Angel protested. “I wasn’t really going to let her kiss me.”

“Sure. So that’s why you had your arms around her back until I cleared my throat reminding you that I was there?”

“Adrenaline!”

“Save it. We’ve got an apocalypse to prevent,” Cordelia snapped. “What’s going on here?”

Jonathan filled her in on the details of what had happened while they were gone. Dennis added some info as well, but he looked worried as he watched Cordelia, who uncharacteristically didn’t have much to say about what Jonathan told her. When he finished, she headed for the backyard without a word.

Dennis stood up, his earlier weariness either gone or ignored for now. “I’ll go check on her,” he said.

When Dennis was gone, Angel shot Jonathan a helpless look. “I wasn’t really going to let Buffy kiss me,” he said.

Jonathan personally couldn’t have cared less either way. “I know,” he said anyway, because it seemed important to Angel that someone believe him.

The rest of the night continued in fits and starts. Dennis returned from the garden, looking weary. Cordelia followed a few minutes later, less annoyed but refusing to listen to Angel trying to explain himself. Eventually, Angel was forced to drop it. Anya, Andrew, and Lorne returned with real medical supplies, which made everyone a little happier and more comfortable. Eventually, the potential Slayers were all asleep, and the Angel Investigations team made their way through the dark to Jonathan’s house.

It was a perfectly suitable house for a three-person family, but a bit small for nine people to share comfortably. Jonathan, Dennis, and Andrew had some small amount of privacy sharing Jonathan’s old bedroom; Cordelia and Fred were sharing his parents’ bed (it was supposed to be Cordelia and Angel sharing, but that plan was nixed with the whole Buffy-kiss debacle); the rest of the gang slept on couches, spare mattresses, and blankets in the living room.

Jonathan thought he would be exhausted enough to fall right asleep in spite of Andrew’s soft snores, but he couldn’t. He tried not to toss and turn a whole lot, as he didn’t want to jostle Dennis on the small bed, but lying still made him feel itchy. He slipped out of the bed just as dawn began to lighten the sky. He made his way to the backyard and sat on his old swing set. That was where Dennis came to find him half an hour later.

“Thought you’d got up to pee,” Dennis told him, rubbing his eyes blearily. He sat down on the swing next to Jonathan.

“Nah. Couldn’t sleep.”

Dennis grunted acknowledgement but didn’t press any further. He reached out his hand to Jonathan, who took it gratefully. This small bit of contact was a comfort he desperately needed.

Jonathan rocked back and forth slightly on his swing, never venturing far enough to break his grip on Dennis’ hand. Eventually Dennis began to rock at the same tempo on his own swing. “Think Wolfram and Hart really wants to help us?”

Dennis considered the question carefully. “It doesn’t seem likely on the surface,” he said at last. “But maybe they’re not ready for the world to end either.”

“Think we’ll stop it?” Jonathan asked, quieter this time.

“Absolutely.”

Jonathan was silent for a while. “What if we don’t?”

Dennis squeezed Jonathan’s hand. “Then I guess we’ll never know, because it’ll all be oblivion?”

That was a strangely comforting idea. “What if we do stop it but...but some of us don’t survive.”

Dennis tugged sharply on Jonathan’s fingers. “Don’t even consider it. I promised your parents I would keep you safe. And I know you’ll do everything in your power to protect me and Andrew and Cordy and everyone. We’ll all survive. I won’t accept anything less. Trust me, I’ve died once - it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

As jokes went, it wasn’t very funny. Jonathan smiled nonetheless. “Well I guess the good news is if I die, all you have to do is -”

Dennis surged across the distance separating them and captured Jonathan’s mouth in a sharp kiss. “No,” he said firmly. “It’s not even an option.”

Jonathan blinked, reeling a little from the intensity of the kiss. “Okay,” he agreed. “No resurrection for me.” He resumed the light swaying on his swing. “What do people do to pass the time before an impending apocalypse?”

“You’re the one with more experience in this field,” Dennis reminded him. “I take it sex is out of the question?”

Jonathan’s heart skipped a beat, and he couldn’t help but smile slightly. “I mean we could...if you don’t mind sneaking into the neighbour’s house or doing it in the bathroom.”

The sun was starting to show above the horizon. “Bathroom,” Dennis said. “I miss making you come in the shower.” When Jonathan shot him a heated look, Dennis just grinned lazily. “You look beautiful enveloped in steam.”

Jonathan swallowed. “Bathroom it is. Let’s go, before anyone else wakes up.” He hopped off his swing and pulled a laughing Dennis onto his feet. There was plenty of time to worry about the apocalypse later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one chapter left!!


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter! I can hardly believe it. Super mega awesome thanks to my beta kiraninblue. She is amazing and if you haven't already you should read her fic "Daybreak" which is what got me shipping Jonathan/Dennis in the first place.

Buffy had a plan. A crazy, ridiculous, so-wild-it-might-actually-work plan. And a big part of it (really the biggest part of it) relied on Willow doing a huge magical working, which made both Willow and Jonathan nervous to consider. “Do you think it’ll be safe?” Willow asked repeatedly. “Do you think it’ll work?”

“If it doesn’t,” Buffy said, “then we won’t have much time to cry over it because we’re all dead.”

“So no pressure, Wil,” Xander said.

“It sounds crazy,” Gunn said, shaking his head. “I mean, I thought Angel was the master of the crazy plans.”

Cordelia sighed. “At least no one said anything about hummus this time.”

This was greeted with a few wry smiles but Jonathan wasn’t the only one clearly confused by her pronouncement.

“We’ll still need a battle strategy,” Giles murmured quietly. If he had any reservations following Buffy’s announcement he didn’t show them, but Jonathan thought he saw a wariness in Giles’ Or maybe Jonathan was transferring his own trepidation.

“Oh!” Andrew jumped up from his seat. “Fred and I have been working on a diagram, here.” He pulled a large whiteboard from behind the couch and turned it around to show a loose drawing of...something. “Here’s the high school, obviously. Since that’s where everything is centered.” He pointed out the various spots as he listed them. “Here’re the main entrances. Here’s where the Hellmouth is. Here’s the Seal of Danzalthar. Here’s the cafeteria. It’s probably not relevant to the battle, but it might be a good place to hole up if necessary. There’s plenty of food there.”

“Not sure I’d really call it ‘food,’” Xander quipped. “Though I bet we could use the biscuits as missiles. Hey, do you think holy milk would work the same as holy water?”

“Jonathan, I want a list of the girls too injured to fight,” Buffy said, ignoring Xander. Buffy had accepted Jonathan and Andrew’s help for the time being, but she mostly ignored them unless she absolutely had to talk to them for some reason. She had acknowledged Jonathan taking charge of the injured Potentials with barely more than a shrug. “We’ll need to get them out of here. The ones who are injured but can still stand, once the Slayer strength and healing kicks in, they’ll be okay. We’ll just need to keep them from the worst of the fighting until Willow works her mojo.”

Jonathan felt a little sick at the idea of sending injured girls into battle, but they would need all the hands they could get. If Buffy’s idea worked, they would probably be okay. But that was a huge ‘if’. “Okay.”

Buffy and Willow exchanged meaningful looks for a moment and then Buffy spoke to Jonathan again. “And during the battle, you’ll be working with Willow.”

Cold anxiety coursed through Jonathan. “No way,” he said weakly. “I’m sorry, but no. I don’t think that’d be a good idea. I’m needed more on the battlefield, and Willow and I working together...”

Willow swallowed. “It’s a risk, but if you’re strong enough to resurrect someone, then you-”

“That was mostly Cordelia,” Jonathan protested. “She’s the one who’s a demi-goddess. Cordy-”

“I’m not going to be holed up away from the fighting,” Cordelia said firmly.

“Perhaps,” Dennis said quietly from next to Jonathan, “I can be of help? I may not know much about magic, but there could be enough of Cordelia’s power left in me for Willow to tap into?”

Jonathan felt a surge of relief. It would keep Dennis out of the thick of the fighting without making him feel like he wasn’t pulling his weight.

“What do you think, Wil?” Buffy asked.

Willow stood up and walked over to Dennis, holding out her hand questioningly. Dennis blinked and nodded. She placed a gentle hand on his face, closing her eyes as she let her power seep into him. Jonathan felt a stab of possessiveness. At last, Willow opened her eyes. “It’s better than nothing. Giles should also be there, just in case he needs to...you know.”

“Of course,” Giles said calmly, taking Willow’s hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“I can stand guard to make sure no one interrupts,” Wesley offered. “And provide magical backup, should you need it.”

“So that’s the mages settled then,” Buffy said. She took the dry erase marker Andrew offered her and began listing names off to the side of the school diagram. “We need to divide up the fighters and put them on the main wings. But we don’t want to overcrowd the hallways; too many bodies in a small space is a disaster waiting to happen.”

Buffy continued to talk about strategy and placements, but Jonathan was only half listening, attempting to silently catch Wesley’s eye. When Wesley finally glanced his way, Jonathan held his gaze for a moment then looked over at Dennis significantly and then back at Wesley.  _ Keep him safe _ , Jonathan pled silently.  _ If everything goes to hell, get him out of there first. The others can take care of themselves, but he can’t. _

Wesley gave the barest nod in response. He would do it. Then he glanced at Fred, who Buffy had assigned to the same hallway as Jonathan. Jonathan nodded in return. He’d do his best to protect Fred’s back since Wesley couldn’t.

By the time Buffy finished laying down the details of positions and strategy, Andrew’s whiteboard had been turned into a mass of Xs and Os and various other squiggles. She recapped her pen, surveyed her handiwork, and turned to the rest of them. “We’ll explain everything to the Potentials, and then break for the night. Tomorrow, we open up that Seal. Tomorrow, the world changes. Let’s go.”

\---

“What do you think?” Dennis asked Jonathan later. They were in Jonathan’s bedroom while the rest of the gang was in the dining room, where Andrew was leading an alcohol-infused D&D crusade.

“I think it’s too bad my door doesn’t lock, but maybe the game will keep Andrew occupied long enough we can get away with it if we’re quick,” Jonathan said, lying down on his bed.

Dennis made a face at him, but came over anyway and leaned down to kiss him. “I meant about Buffy’s plan. What do you think?”

Jonathan sighed and sat up. “I knew what you meant. I think Buffy’s crazy. But her crazy plans generally seem to work, so maybe we have a chance after all.”

Dennis sat down next to him, propping up pillows to lean against. “Is that why you’re not out there with the others, throwing one last blowout celebration?”

Jonathan shrugged. He fingered the duvet’s faded pattern. “I’ll celebrate when we save the world. Not toast to the possibility of its destruction.” He leaned his head back against the wall. “I’ll go out there in a few minutes, but I wanted to be alone with you for a while.”

Dennis slid closer and looped his arm around Jonathan’s shoulders. Jonathan leaned his head against Dennis’ arm. It felt so solid, but so weak. “Stick as close to Wesley and Willow as you can,” Jonathan mumbled for probably the dozenth time since leaving Revello Drive.

Dennis squeezed Jonathan against him. “I will,” Dennis promised yet again. Jonathan tipped his head upwards, silently studying Dennis’ face as if to memorize every detail. Dennis swooped down to press a kiss to Jonathan’s forehead and then lower to the tip of his nose, before finally capturing his lips in a hot kiss. Jonathan shifted, turning until he could straddle Dennis’ lap. Their kisses grew deeper, more urgent. Dennis’ hands rubbed up and down Jonathan’s back, causing him to arch into the touch like a cat. His own hands splayed against Dennis’ chest, seeking out and teasing the covered nipples.

Dennis broke their kiss, but only to move his lips to a particularly sensitive spot on Jonathan’s neck. Since their first time together, Dennis had found more parts on Jonathan’s body that made him moan desperately than Jonathan even knew existed. His favourite was the spot just below Jonathan’s left ear, which he now sucked at with increasing fervour until Jonathan was breathless and aching with need. Jonathan’s hands slipped down to the hem of Dennis’ t-shirt, which he wrenched out of Dennis’ pants. Dennis pulled away just long enough for Jonathan to yank the shirt off over his head.

Jonathan eased off Dennis’ lap, but he didn’t go very far. Instead, he guided Dennis until he was lying down, then climbed back on top. He leaned down to pepper kisses all over Dennis’ shoulders and chest. Even after all these weeks, Jonathan was still amazed at how Dennis’ soft skin felt under his lips. He swirled his tongue around each nipple, loving the way it caused Dennis’ hips to buck uncontrollably. He moved lower, letting his tongue roam wherever it wanted; his hands worked the button and zip open on Dennis’ pants. His cloth-covered cock peeked out of the top of Dennis’ pants, and Jonathan steeled his resolve.

“I want to try something new,” he mumbled into Dennis’ stomach, so quiet and slurred that maybe Dennis couldn’t even hear him. But judging from the way Dennis’ breath hitched and his stomach jumped, maybe he did after all.

Dennis tugged on Jonathan’s shirt. “Off,” he whined.

Jonathan paused his ministrations just long enough to wriggle out of his shirt, but then he went back to kissing and licking at Dennis’ hipbones as he pushed Dennis’ pants down. His own cock throbbed with need.  _ Soon _ , he promised it.

Pants gone, and boxers offering a tempting glimpse of skin through the slit. Jonathan eased those away, and now Dennis was naked underneath him. Jonathan sat back on his heels, greedily drinking in the sight. “Fuck me, you’re beautiful,” he whispered. No matter how many times they did this, he felt, he would never get over this: Dennis, hard and needy and flushed under Jonathan’s ministrations, splayed out and waiting for him to make his next move. He ran both hands up along Dennis’ calves to his thighs, bypassing his cock for the moment. He leaned forward until he could capture Dennis’ lips in one more searing kiss. He could feel Dennis’ cock pushing against his thigh.

Just as Jonathan pulled away, ready to move on to the new thing he wanted to try, he heard a whisper that he thought maybe he had imagined at first. But then Dennis repeated it, and Jonathan knew he had heard correctly. “I love you.”

Jonathan froze, staring with a mixture of awe and disbelief. Dennis deserved so much better than Jonathan. Jonathan didn’t deserve his love. He cupped Dennis’ face in his hands and regarded him solemnly.

“You’re the world’s biggest cliche.”

Dennis snorted, the spell of the moment broken. “Excuse me?”

Jonathan grinned. “It’s the night before the world is going to end, we’re having sex, and you say  _ that _ ? If that’s not the biggest cliche in the world, then what is?”

Dennis tackled Jonathan to the bed, using the element of surprise to override Jonathan’s superior strength. He pinned Jonathan down with one hand and undid Jonathan’s jeans with the other. “I’m the cliche?” he demanded. “You’re the one who went ‘well, the world’s gonna end, might as well have sex now while we still can.’”

“That’s a terrible impersonation of me,” Jonathan retorted, wiggling out of his jeans. “And I don’t exactly see you complaining.”

“I would never,” Dennis insisted. He divested Jonathan of his boxers and reached for his cock, but Jonathan shied away.

“I told you, I wanted to try something.”

He rolled them over so that he was on top of Dennis again, their hips connecting and cocks rubbing against each other. Jonathan choked back a moan; he was on a mission and had no time to get distracted again. He slipped down Dennis’ body, and before he could put any more thought into the action, he took Dennis’ cock in hand and lowered his mouth to the tip.

The taste was just as he had expected from that first time together, when Dennis had come through his boxers. He sucked on the tip, letting his tongue swirl around it. He glanced up at Dennis’ face: he wore an expression of mixed awe, delight, and desperation. Jonathan’s lips spread into a smile, but he quickly forced them back into tight formation. He slid down further on Dennis’ cock until it hit the back of his throat, and he had to struggle against his gag reflex.

He had no idea what he was doing. His teeth seemed to constantly get in the way, he accidentally made a weird snorting noise in the back of his throat, and saliva leaked from the corner of his mouth as he moved up and down on Dennis’ cock. But Dennis didn’t seem to mind any of this. He was panting hard, struggling not to thrust up into Jonathan’s mouth. His hand clutched anything they could reach, from the sheets to Jonathan’s shoulders, neck, and hair. He kept up a steady stream of encouragement and blasphemies that egged Jonathan on. Twice Jonathan had to stop to regain his breath and wipe his chin, which caused Dennis to hiss and swear. At last, Jonathan found a rhythm that worked, and Dennis’ whole body seemed to contract as he moaned under Jonathan.

“I’m gonna - oh, god, Jonathan, I’m going to come,” he groaned.

Jonathan stubbornly left his mouth on Dennis’ cock as he came, and then immediately wished he hadn’t. He choked as Dennis’ cum hit the back of his throat, and he had to pull off. The rest of the cum hit his chin as he coughed and tried not to gag. All the cum he hadn’t managed to swallow - which was most of it - leaked out of his mouth and splattered onto Dennis’ stomach. Dennis pushed himself into a sitting position and thumped Jonathan on the back to help.

At last, the coughing fit ended and Jonathan was able to gulp in much-needed air. “That looked so much easier in the porn videos,” he gasped.

Dennis slumped back against the pillows, a fit of giggles overtaking him. “Ch-choking to death on seamen b-before the end of the world….I guess it’s not the worst way to go.”

“I’d hit you with a pillow, but you’re covered in spunk right now and I need to sleep on that pillow,” Jonathan groused.

“Not my fault,” Dennis pointed out.

“Ugh, hold on.” Jonathan cast about for something he could use as a rag. He found an old t-shirt balled up in a corner, which he tossed to Dennis.

Dennis cleaned himself up then pulled Jonathan towards him once more. “You okay?” he asked, nuzzling against Jonathan’s neck.

“Yeah, just give me a moment.” His erection was nearly gone, but if Dennis continued doing that thing with his tongue in just that right spot, it’d be back in no time.

“Take your time,” Dennis murmured. One of his hands slipped down to squeeze at Jonathan’s ass. Jonathan’s breath hitched and he rocked forward against Dennis’ hip.

“Oh, fuck!”

Dennis rolled them so that he was now on top of Jonathan. His hands and lips worked magic together, finding all of Jonathan’s most sensitive spots. Jonathan closed his eyes, feeling the ecstasy of the moment lifting up inside him. When his cock was suddenly enveloped in something hot, wet, and tight, he yelped with surprised pleasure and his eyes popped open: Dennis was mimicking the blowjob Jonathan had given him earlier.

“Shit,” Jonathan hissed, staring down at Dennis. He looked fucking  _ hot _ like that. Jonathan wouldn’t be able to last long, and his hips couldn’t help but jerk forward even though it couldn’t be comfortable for Dennis.

Dennis might not have any more experience with giving blowjobs than Jonathan had, but he was certainly more graceful. He relaxed his throat easily, and his tongue seemed to be doing something that made Jonathan’s toes curl. Every movement sent Jonathan higher and higher until he could feel the wave cresting.

“I’m gonna-!” he managed to gasp out just before he came.

Dennis pulled away and used his hand to pull Jonathan through the end of his orgasm. When he was done, Dennis used the same dirty t-shirt to clean him up as well, then tossed it back into the same corner. Jonathan felt sleepy and content, in spite of the worries still nagging at the corner of his mind. Dennis curled up next to him, holding him close in post-orgasmic lethargy.

“We should go out and join the others for dinner,” Dennis mumbled into Jonathan’s shoulder.

“Uh-huh,” Jonathan agreed. Neither of them moved.

\---

Jonathan would probably never find out for sure what happened under the Seal of Danzalthar or inside Principal Woods’ office with the others. He was on hallway defense with Andrew, Fred, and Anya, while the others split up between the other main defense spots. Giles, Dennis, Willow, and one of the Potentials named Kennedy went into the principal’s office to work the magic right over the Seal. Buffy, Faith, and the two vampires led the rest of the Potentials below the Seal; Spike was wearing the amulet on over his leather jacket. 

Waiting was the hardest part. It seemed to take forever, pacing the hall with no way to communicate with the others. Andrew tried to calm Anya’s nerves with happy images of lakes and bunnies - something in his words or tone must have worked because she hefted her sword with renewed resolve. “Bunnies,” Jonathan heard her whisper to herself.

At last a rumbling from underneath. “I think they’re coming,” Andrew said. He, too, was armed with a sword, which Jonathan had tried to explain to Buffy was not his weapon of choice at all. But Buffy had ignored him, while Faith just told him to “suck it up, Buttercup” because weapons were in short supply today.

Jonathan had been given a short sword and a knife. They looked pathetic next to some of the grander weapons, like the magical scythe. Glancing at them now, with enhanced vampires bearing down on their hallway, Jonathan understood that he was a dead man walking. He’d take out as many of them as he could going down, but he would not last through this fight.

He had just enough time to think a fast goodbye to Dennis in his head and then the vampires were on them.

Cut, hack, parry, strike - the movements came roaring back to Jonathan’s muscles. In spite of his months of not fighting, he was as strong as ever thanks to his hospital job. And his body remembered how to fight. Again and again he cut down his enemies. “Watch out!” he screamed to Anya, just in time for her to dodge a slashing blow from one of the vampires.

“Behind you!” she called out in return. Jonathan whipped around and sliced off a vampire’s head in one fluid movement.

They kept coming. A veritable hoard bearing down on them, and they overwhelmed with fatigue and losing steam. The bodies piled up around them, causing them to stumble and slip. A blow caught Jonathan in his left arm, near the muscle. He screamed out in pain. Andrew was on the floor, scrambling to get back to his feet and sliding in the ashes of too many vampires. Blood ran from a cut hidden in Anya’s hair. Jonathan could only imagine how the others fared.

The dust choked him, aggravating his asthma in spite of the charms he wore to fend off an attack. He couldn’t breathe, but he had to keep moving, had to keep the enemy from advancing.  _ Hold the line _ , he told himself.  _ Hold the line hold the line hold the line _ . It became a mantra he chanted with each strike, sweep, and cut.

_ Hold the li- _

An explosion rocked the school, causing debris to rain down on them. Jonathan ducked out of the way, covering his eyes from the dust now coming at them from all directions.

“What was that?” Anya yelped. She looked a little woozy and that was an awful lot of blood in her hair.  _ She’s practically a redhead now _ , Jonathan thought dazedly.

Shouts echoed from down below, but this time it wasn’t vampires who came bubbling up from underneath, but the Potentials, led by Faith. “Get out get out get out!” she screamed as she went running down the main entrance.

Jonathan didn’t need telling twice. He grabbed Andrew’s arm and hauled the both of them towards sunlight - away from the dark rumblings of the building. Fred raced behind them.

“Anya! Anya!” Xander’s voice bounced off falling rubble.

“I’m here!” she cried, appearing out of the falling dust and shoving him forward. “Move!” Together, they raced for the entrance as well.

“The bus!” someone else shouted. “Head for the bus!”

Jonathan slowed and moved out of the crowd, scanning for Dennis’ face. He was nowhere to be seen but - “Willow! Where’s Dennis? Where’s Wesley?”

Willow looked ashen, exhausted, barely able to hold herself up, but she looked around at Jonathan’s shouts. Her mouth fell as she admitted, “They got caught behind a falling wall. They were buried.”

Jonathan’s mind went blank. He reacted without thinking. He tore back into the crumbling building, heading for where the principal’s office used to be. “Dennis! Dennis! Can you hear me?!”

The way was blocked by a mountain of rubble. Jonathan nearly choked to see it. The building continued to shake, and he didn’t have much time to act. He thought he could hear someone calling from underneath the debris. “Hold on!” he cried. “I’ll get you out of there.”

He tried to shift some of the pile, but that just caused more to rain down. He could end up crushing them if he wasn’t careful.

Andrew was right behind Jonathan. “Get out of here,” Jonathan snapped. “We’ll be right behind you.”

“I’m not leaving you behind,” Andrew insisted.

“Stand back,” he ordered. This was going to be tricky, but he had no choice and no time to argue. If it didn’t work, then they had nothing to lose anyway. He was going to have to do magic without any aids or sigils; just raw power shoved at the rubble. It was the sort of thing Willow could have done easily, but Jonathan? This was not his forte.

Andrew moved a couple steps away. Jonathan had no time to think, only to act as he pulled up his magic and shoved it at the debris. At first it didn’t budge….but then slowly - and then faster - it moved. Some chunks tumbled down while others flew up in the air. Jonathan tossed them all aside, his injured arm screaming in pain, until he had a gap big enough to start digging at with his hands.

An arm. A shoulder. A face. Dennis blinked up at him, dazed, choking. “You came back for me,” he gasped.

“Of course,” Jonathan said gruffly. “Now let’s get out of here. Where’s Wesley?”

“He’s here!” Andrew cried, a few feet away. He began frantically digging Wesley out of the pile. “I think he’s hurt.”

“Grab Dennis and get out of here,” Jonathan ordered. “I’ll bring Wes.”

Dennis limped away barely able to stand, while Andrew helped him along. The school was empty now and the rumblings increasing in tempo. Jonathan dug faster, revealing an unconscious Wesley. With no better way to carry him, Jonathan used his magic to create an invisible stretcher that slid under Wesley and hoisted him up. Then he ran after the others.

He got to the front door just as the school bus started up and began driving away. “Wait,” he called, but his voice was croaky and barely more than a whisper. The back door flew open and hands beckoned Jonathan to run after the bus even as it continued to pick up speed. Jonathan shoved Wesley ahead of himself magically, pushing him in through the emergency exit. The hands disappeared for a moment as they pushed Wesley down the aisle, then reappeared. “Jump!” a voice commanded. “I’ll catch you.”

Jonathan leaped forward, and the hands grabbed his in midair. He was pulled into the bus with superhuman force, and the two of them stumbled and fell. It was Kennedy who had pulled him inside, who now slammed the emergency exit shut while Jonathan choked and struggled to breathe on the cold metal floor.

More hands - different hands - grabbed him and hauled him into one of the bench seats. Jonathan looked up into Dennis’ and Andrew’s worried eyes. “Are you okay?” Dennis asked.

Jonathan nodded, clutching his asthma charm. “Gimme a moment,” he croaked.

“Where’s Spike?” Andrew asked. “Did he-?”

“He didn’t make it out,” Angel said shortly.

Dawn stared intently out the back door of the bus. At first Jonathan couldn’t figure out what she was looking for, until he realised Buffy wasn’t on the bus either. “C’mon...c’mon…” Dawn hissed under her breath.

Breathing almost under control, Jonathan stood up and tottered down the aisle to the emergency exit door. He could see Sunnydale collapsing behind them, right under their wheels as they raced the destruction at top speed. There was a bustle in the seats around him as injured girls tended to injured girls. He should help them, he knew, but he felt like someone had to bear witness to this. Dawn was looking for her sister, and everyone else was looking at each other or forward. Jonathan watched as the town he had lived in his whole life crumbled to dust behind them.

A thump on the roof knocked him out of his reverie, and Dawn jumped to her feet just as Faith called out, “Ease off, we’re clear!” The bus slowed abruptly, causing Jonathan to stumble. They rolled to a stop. A figure jumped to the ground as Dawn threw open the back door and jumped out to hug Buffy. She had been the thump on the roof, Jonathan realised. The others climbed out of the bus to stare at the crater that had opened up where Sunnydale once stood. Jonathan didn’t follow them, but instead sank down on the seat Dawn had vacated. He stared at the ground.

A pair of once-nice tennis shoes blocked his view. He looked up and saw Dennis staring down at him. “I thought I was going to suffocate to death,” he said without preamble, tears welling in his eyes. “Again.”

Jonathan shook his head slowly. “Not while I have anything to say about it.”

Dennis broke into a watery smile. “Thank you.”

“We survived,” Andrew whispered from somewhere nearby.

“We survived,” Jonathan agreed.

“Hey, shorty!” Faith yelled from the front of the bus. Jonathan looked over in spite of himself. “We’re not done yet. Wood is hurt, and you’ve got the healing mojo. Hop to it.”

Jonathan got to his feet with a groan. Wood was hurt, and the bump on Wes’ head needed to be seen to. They may have survived, but they weren’t done. They still had Wolfram & Hart to deal with when they got home. If they got home. Jonathan suddenly remembered that his and Angel’s cars were now buried under and entire city. Their work was far from over. The world had suddenly become a lot more powerful place, and Jonathan had a feeling Angel Investigations would be helping figure out what to do with that power.

Time to get started.

\---

A long time later - too many hours of dizzying, blood encrusted road travel - Jonathan collapsed in his own bed. His shoulder throbbed, as the painkillers hadn’t quite kicked in yet. Dennis lay next to him, already dozing. They had patched themselves up by the side of the road, but there was only so much they could do like that. Principal Wood needed a blood transfusion, and everyone needed rest. Angel hunkered in the shadows until they were ready to move on again. It was nearly sunset by the time the bus puttered onto the street in front of the Hyperion and the whole lot of them stepped out.

Lilah was waiting for them, of course. But she took one look at the two dozen Slayers and the rest of their bloodied crew, and walked away without saying a word.

“She’ll be back,” Wesley warned them. He still looked woozy and concussed, but he insisted he was fine to walk on his own.

“We’ll be ready for her when she does,” Fred said.

Everyone trudged up to the empty hotel rooms to sleep. Those in need of medical services had already been dropped off at the hospital. “Guess you’re sleeping here tonight?” Angel had asked Jonathan and Andrew.

Jonathan had glanced at the front door. “I’d really love to sleep in my own bed.” But travelling on the bus in his blood-soaked clothes seemed like a bad idea.

Gunn tossed him a set of keys, which he nearly dropped. “Bring it back in the morning,” he had grunted, before guiding Wesley towards the staircase.

So Jonathan, Dennis, and Andrew had piled into Gunn’s truck and driven home. They could barely keep their eyes open by the time they pulled into their spot. Jonathan was sure he would fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

But he couldn’t sleep. He found himself staring at Dennis through the dark. Sunnydale was gone, and who knew what lay in front of them? Wolfram & Hart would expect payment for their gift, and who knew what form that payment would take? Jonathan also needed to call his parents and let them know he had survived and that they should expect him to come visit sometime within the next two weeks. That call, however, would have to wait until morning.

Jonathan watched Dennis’ steady breaths. He had almost lost him today. Again. It was unbearable to think about, so instead Jonathan focused on the fact that he was still breathing. That he was still whole and healthy and alive.

He reached out a hand and traced one finger lightly along Dennis’ face. “I...I love you,” he whispered, trying out the words for size.

Dennis’ lips twitched into a slow smile. “You love me,” he repeated happily.

Jonathan groaned softly. “I thought you were asleep.”

Dennis opened his eyes and rolled over. “I almost was. Then something touched my face and I think an angel whispered in my ear.”

Jonathan shoved him. “You’re a sap,” he groused. “I’m no angel.”

Dennis shifted closer, mindful of Jonathan’s injured arm. “I love you, too.”

It didn’t take long after that for Jonathan to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nope I didn't kill anyone. One character almost did get the ax but in the end I just couldn't bring myself to do that. I hope you enjoyed!


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